Beloved Target
by Barbayat
Summary: This an alternate universe story and deals with the two main villains Fouchon and Van Cleaf . The change happens during the hunt on Roper ... I am thinking about re-writing this one. Was my first one - love some constructive criticism.
1. Hunting season in New Orleans

Title: Beloved Target  
  
Author: Barbayat  
  
Summary: If you have seen Hard Target, and liked Van Cleaf and Fouchon, I recommend to read this story.   
  
Disclaimers: The characters and the story of "Hard Target" do not belong to me. I just directed the movie to a different ending - an ending I (and others, too) appreciate more.  
  
I like to thank Arnold Vosloo and Lance Hendriksen for playing those fantastic and inspiring villains. I also should tank Jean-Claude van Damme and Yancy Butler as well for playing those annoying and boring heroes (so far no one complained about me killing or not mentioning their characters.)  
  
Furthermore I like to thank the 2nd-System-Meister, whom I tortured in endless hours on the phone asking him for advice on various scenes. Not to forget my beta-readers - Margit and Marcel - who put up with my terrible English correcting the whole story.  
  
Comments, Critic and suggestions are welcomed - send them to barbayat@malevillain.com   
  
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1.Hunting Season in New Orleans  
  
Sandrine Mosley slept so deep she has not realised that it was already night. Her father drove the car through illuminated streets. A few people were still out and walking around between the open bars and casinos.  
  
"We arrived?"  
  
"Almost - you slept long. Didn't you go to bed early, Sandy?"  
  
"Well, we had a party for Mrs. Grady, our biology-teacher. It was her last year and I had so much fun - I forgot the time."  
  
"I am very disappointed in you -I just hope you behave, when you are with your cousin."  
  
"Sure, dad, it was just an exception. It won't happen again," she tried to assure him.  
  
The girl turned to her window and smiled. Her cousin and she shall have much longer parties - and with boys. Suddenly someone knocked on their window. It was a black man and he was banging with bloody hands onto their windscreen. Her father stopped the car and jumped out. She expected him to start a quarrel, but he did not.  
  
"What happened?" He demanded instead.  
  
"They are close behind me," the black man yelled.  
  
The sound of other closing vehicles called for a quick solution. Agent Mosley opened the backdoor and helped the man in. Sandrine saw that he was bleeding out of several wounds. With help of the man's jacket she found out that his name was Roper.  
  
"Sandy try to stop the bleeding, you have to press onto the wounds. - Can you tell me who is following you?"  
  
He looked in the rear mirror. Two cars and three bikes were following them. He opened the window and turned his light on. The cars were dropping back. He could not see any licence plates, but he was sure, they were good for trouble. He informed the local police, but they just replied that they did not have enough cars out on the street to take care of the matter. They notified the hospital, but more they could not do.  
  
A few minutes later they reached the hospital undisturbed. An emergency team immediately took care of Roper. Her father told her to get in with them and parked the car. Shortly afterwards Roper was under surgery and Agent Mosley was talking to a policewoman who had arrived in the meantime. Luckily he noticed his daughter long enough to hand her his jacket. Her white dress was cover with blood and even after she closed the jacket some of the blood was still visible.  
  
Her father went to the observation room with the woman and told her to stay behind. Sleeping in the car had not really been relaxing and there for the girl was still tired. Sandrine could not imagine anything more boring than having to sit somewhere and waiting.  
  
A few moments later the black police woman came out and made a phone call. Then she sighed and came towards the girl. Sandrine saw that she wore a detective badge.  
  
"Was a tough night for you, wasn't it?" the woman asked her.  
  
"Not yet," came the dry reply.  
  
"This probably won't take that long and then you can spend the rest of your holiday with your father."  
  
"Actually the idea of this holiday was to get away from him. I wanted to visit my cousin - it was his idea to get me there personally."  
  
"That almost sounds like you don't like spending time with him," said the female detective.  
  
"Why should I? I have to were those dresses, I can't say what I think or want without causing him to go crazy. I can't even do what I want unless it is something suitable for a young girl," Sandrine uttered with a bitter tone.  
  
The woman looked at her as if she can not believe what she had just heard. The detective always thought her mother had been too strict and that this was the reason why she was still single. Hearing this, she wondered how anybody could be so old-fashioned nowadays.  
  
"Maybe you just have to convince him that you are a reasonable girl - I mean he should be proud that a girl remains so calm in a situation like this, maybe if you talked to him," the woman suggested.  
  
"Talking with him is like talking to a wall, it tried it for the past 17 years, believe me it's no use," replied the girl.  
  
"You are seventeen? I ..." the cellular of the policewoman rang and she broke up.  
  
Sandrine could see her face brightening up and she replied that they should send the guys right over to the hospital. Then the detective put her hand on the phone and wished her good luck, before she walked down the corridor.  
  
Sandrine waited about over an hour before her father returned. Almost everyone looked at her. Then her father showed up, followed by an annoyed looking nurse.  
  
"They think he will make it, but of course he won't be able to talk for a couple of hours. I will wait here, but Nurse Foster here, will bring you down to a taxi that will bring you to our hotel."  
  
He gave his daughter 70 Dollars.   
  
"Get something to eat - this will take time ..."   
  
"So we are going to stay here for a while?"  
  
"Do you expect me to look away? I've got a responsibility towards the public and right now something very fishy is going on here. I'm the only one to take care of it."  
  
Then he turned around leaving his daughter behind. She sighed. The outlook of spending another day or perhaps more with her father was not exactly that what she would have called a holiday. Punishment fit much better. She looked at Nurse Foster who seemed to be more relaxed, now that Agent Mosley had left.  
  
"Ok, I bring you down, but please hurry, I am very busy."  
  
"I'm 17, I can make it to the taxi myself."  
  
"Really? You look much younger."  
  
"I am 17 - My father just knew what he did, when he picked out this dress."  
  
The nurse smiled and gave Sandrine a closer look.  
  
"Ok, then I can go back to work."  
  
Sandrine watched her walking down the floor and disappearing into another room. She got up. It was late and she was tired. Slowly she walked towards the elevator and pressed the button. After a short time the doors opened and a group of doctors and nurses emerged from it. Nobody else took the elevator and she got down without another stop.  
  
Only two taxis were standing in line. She went straight to the first one. The guy looked really bored. As she came closer he looked at her. He seemed to be very unhappy about getting a new fare. Then the driver looked at her more closely and saw the blood stains.  
  
"It is almost dry - I'm tired I just want to go to my hotel. O.K.?"  
  
He smiled. "No problem, Miss."  
  
If she had not been that tired she would probably have realised that her driver was dressed better than any ordinary taxi driver could afford. She thought that there was something strange about him, but she gave it no second thought. She handed the address to him and got in.  
  
He started the car and Sandrine leaned back.  
  
"Is it far away?"  
  
"You will see, you reach the destination much sooner than you would have liked to."  
  
After this statement Sandrine not only had the feeling that something was wrong. She noticed the guy did not speak any slang. He talked more like her teacher at school. Even more precise. As she took a look to the licence she saw that this cup belonged to a blond long haired male and her driver had short, black hair. His face had also no similarity with the picture.  
  
'He is obviously not a driver,' she thought.  
  
"Could you stop at a gas station I need some chewing gum - won't take long."  
  
"Sure," he told her. Sandrine was relieved. Maybe the guy just stole the car and was not after his fare, but as they passed the next station, he drove on.  
  
"What was wrong with this one?" she demanded to know.  
  
"Nothing." The car reach a drive-way and the needle moved up to 80 miles. "Actually we are not stopping anywhere - consider your self as kidnapped."  
  
So she was trapped and had a moment to think about what exactly was going on. She came to the conclusion - that this must have to do with the man her father saved today. Maybe she could find out what was behind this.  
  
"What are you planning to do with me now - I guess you know what my father's occupation is?"  
  
"That's why we kidnapped you."  
  
"You kidnapped me, because you wanted trouble with the FBI? Don't you have any real hobbies?"  
  
"I do have."  
  
"Probably fishing." Sandrine realised that she had picked the wrong strategy.  
  
"Not quite - it's hunting."  
  
'Hunting?' She instantly understood what he meant. "You were hunting that old man?"  
  
He chuckled. "Well you might as well know, we organised the hunt and this old man killed the guy who was hunting him. We just were about to clean up the mess, when your father interfered."  
  
"And what exactly has this to do with me?"  
  
"To ensure your father does not make any unpleasant phone calls."  
  
The question was, would her father give in to this deal. Sandrine doubted it. She did not like her father, and although she would not call him a complete idiot, she knew very well that he acted concerning all non-job-related matters - as if they were one. And for his job, he was not the guy who liked to negotiate. She suddenly felt uncomfortable and opened the jacket to get some chewing gum.  
  
"How long you want my father not to make unpleasant calls?"  
  
"Until we are out of his reach - then your presence won't be required any longer."  
  
"So if I'm kidnapped shouldn't you blindfold me?"  
  
"No need."  
  
She swallowed and sunk back into her seat. She remained in silence for the rest of the ride. Finally they reached a large estate out of the city near the bayou. The car was parked in front of the entrance. A wide staircase led to large mahogany doors. It was quite a lovely spot to live in. A little smaller than her current private school, but it was not overcrowded and the whole ground had something peaceful over it. A tall, dark man waited for them.   
  
"There we are."  
  
Her driver said and got out of the car. She took his last words for a demand to get out and since she did not want to complicate the situation, she did so. Her father did not talk much about his work, but she was clever enough to know by herself that as a hostage the only thing she could do, was to be cooperative and hope that the demands were fulfilled.  
  
"Good work."  
  
"Easy like walking through a park."  
  
Although both make an impressive figure, the older man, was obviously the one in charge. Not only because he wore a really expensive suit. The way he spoke and moved as he talked to her kidnapper, made that clear. Her driver did not really act like he was a subordinate. It seemed more that he was an associate.   
  
The other one paid her not much attention, until she had come close enough for him to recognise her ruined dress. She was not sure what shocked him more, the dress itself or the blood on it. 'Probably the dress', she thought.  
  
"What a nice decorated ensemble."  
  
"And I guess you are the one responsible for this decoration."  
  
He looked at her for a short moment with surprise in his eyes, then he turned to his associate.  
  
"Pick, lock her in."  
  
Fouchon was not in a good mood and walked back into the house. In spite of this Pick was amused.  
  
"Shall we?"  
  
Her kidnapper pointed to the doors and they followed his boss through the main door. The house was from the inside almost as impressive as from the outside. The interior was huge and everything looked expensive. Definitely not like her school. Although the architecture was similar, the whole interior in her school was made either of plastic or robust wood. This was simply elegant.  
  
"Hey, Van Cleaf - I always thought you could pull something better at shore."  
  
A man in a cheap leather outfit walked down a hallway. He was on his way out and stared at her. Then he looked at her kidnapper and his face turned white. She also turned her attention to Pick and the way he looked at this guy gave her goose bumps. Then he turned his look at her and as she met his eyes, she felt like frozen. Sandrine did not even realise that the other guy hurried outside.  
  
She could not move until his eyes set her free. He took her arm and lead her up a large staircase. The second floor also looked huge, many doors led away from a long hallway. He guided her into a room with a small fireplace. For a prison cell it was really comfortable. It even had a balcony. The curtains had hidden it, but Van Cleaf walked over and locked the doors.  
  
Then he turned and looked at her once again. She had the feeling that he wanted to say something, but then he left her alone and locked the door from the outside. She was not sure if he was still there, because the thick tapestry in the hallway made it impossible to hear any noise. Sandrine inspected the room. The third door lead to a bathroom. Besides a large bed, an empty wardrobe, an old, bulky chair and a footstool her room was empty.   
  
She walked around for some time, but nothing happened and since she did not wanted to call for anyone, she decided to go to bed. Maybe tomorrow she would learn more and hopefully good news. 


	2. Bringing down a fawn

2.Bringing down a fawn  
  
The sun felt through a small gab in the curtains into Sandrine's face. The girl woke up and even though she had slept well, she felt odd. Would she get out of this today? The new day did not bring any new hope. The only change was she felt hungry and thirsty.  
  
At least she had her own bathroom. The hand-basin looked like it was more expensive than her complete bathroom at home. Since she there was no glass, she bend down and drank right from the source. The cool water freshened her senses. Sandrine walked to the balcony door. She could see a large walnut tree outside and some of the twigs hung over the balcony. A few nuts lay on the floor.   
  
She went to the main door and listened. She did not hear anyone and she doubted that someone waited right in front of the door. Sandrine and her stomach came to a decision. She took one of her hair pins and unlocked the door. She thanked Tessa, once her best friend, for showing her those tricks. She did not even damaged the lock. Carefully she went outside and just as she picked up the first walnut, she saw Van Cleaf and the other guy walking by. She dropped to the floor.  
  
The girl hoped that they would not see her, as she overheard their conversation.  
  
"Her father is quite an idiot, if he supposes that we did not notice what he is doing."  
  
"At least the back-up is still far away - and as long as he thinks she is still alive ..." Van Cleaf left the sentence unfinished.  
  
"We can not be sure, what this guy is up to, but she still might be of use."  
  
"Any hostage is at least good for a shield."  
  
Then they went on and Sandrine was not able to understand anything anymore. Her hunger was gone, instead, she had the feeling of someone pushing a fist in her stomach. Slowly she got up. Sandrine was not surprised that her father was willing to risk her life for his principles, but hearing it was a different matter. She took a deep breath and as she looked up she saw that the walnut tree had a large branch hanging over the wall that enclosed the ground. The nearest branch to the balcony looked a bit thin.   
  
The girl knew that if she stayed here, she would die. Therefore she looked around to ensure her kidnappers were out of sight. Then Sandrine climbed on the railing and grabbed the branch. She moved forward and let go of the balcony. She did not fall and moved hand by hand forward until her feet got hold on a lower branch. Wearing sandals did not make it any easier, but she managed to do it.  
  
She made sure nobody saw her and then she dropped to the ground on the other side. The fugitive looked around and ran. Sandrine was not sure what direction she went to and she did not care. She had no watch and no sense of time. When she was exhausted she took a short break and the she started running.   
  
The kidnappers had walked back into the house and discussed the best way to leave the country and which lose ends had to be tied before they could go. After a while a phone call disturbed them.  
  
"Fouchon, here."  
  
Pick's friend and boss was still in a very bad mood, but then his voice lost the aggressive tone.  
  
"Next season will open in Eastern Europe as soon as we have moved in our new headquarter. - That is an interesting offer you have, Mr. Lopaki."  
  
Pick took the time and went upstairs. It was about time to check the status of their hostage. He was surprised as he discovered that she had escaped. He went down and gestured towards Fouchon to end the conversation.  
  
"The girl is gone."  
  
"What? When did you check her the last time?"  
  
"That was at eight o'clock, she was still asleep then."  
  
"And now it is noon. Take the men and follow her."  
  
Van Cleaf was just about to leave the room as Fouchon spoke again.  
  
"How did she get out?"  
  
"She somehow unlocked the balcony door."  
  
Then Pick went outside and called their men together. The helicopter was always ready and the few men who did not hang around did not need long to come over from town. Fouchon used to call them dogs - since it was their duty to chase and drive the prey forward until it was ready to be taken by the hunter. Fouchon was annoyed, he did not like surprises, especially if there was no time to enjoy them. Now the offer of his business partner Mr. Lopaki came in handy. He answered his call.  
  
"We have a deal. We might need the ship in short time. - Fine, we inform you as soon as we are ready."  
  
He went upstairs to pack the most important things and as he passed Sandrine's guestroom he took a look. Fouchon had to admit that the girl had made an excellent job on the lock. As he turned he discovered her purse lying on the floor next to the bed. He bent down and picked it up.  
  
Sandrine had not thought of it at the beginning, but as soon as they realised that she was gone, she became the new target of the hunting party. A helicopter started to circle above the bayou she had fled to and after some time she knew that someone was following her. It was a larger group than she had expected. Although she did not hear any dogs she was sure that they would find her. She already felt to weak to run and she could sense that they came closer.  
  
She was hiding behind a tree and listening to their footsteps. They had split and she thought of the best way of getting out of this mess. Suddenly someone grabbed her from behind. It was Pick - with one arm around her waist and the other holding a knife to her throat.  
  
"You made a mistake", he whispered in her ear and she felt truly weak and helpless. With her tears about to come, she took all her strength together and replied: "Oh - was it a mistake? Would it make any difference if I had waited in that room? - Waited until you would come and kill me?"  
  
Her voice was getting weaker as he seemed to be very amused.  
  
"There maybe was only a small chance at all - I ..."  
  
Her voice faded and one small tear was running down her cheek. She wondered what was wrong with her. Not only that she had lost her self-control and fighting spirit. Her knees trembled. She could not remember that they had done so before.  
  
Pick was surprised about her words. She was weak and strong at the same time. Holding her so close - he could feel her resistance fading away. She was very strong minded, but also a sensible girl, and she was well aware of what was going on. She knew that she had lost, that she was at his mercy.  
  
This drained her powers and he could not blame her. It was astonishing that she had kept her guard up for so long. Still, she did not beg or panicked and he did not expect her to. It was as if all her energy flowed into him. His whole body was electrified - all his senses focused on her. He could not remember the last time he felt so much alive.  
  
'I lost', this horrible thought echoed in Sandrines mind. She should have known it since their first meeting - their first eye contact. (She was held at gunpoint when she was fourteen, by a frightened and drugged bank-robber.) Of course she had been afraid and she was even more afraid now - but that was not all. Never before she felt anything like this. Maybe this was the effect of her weakness or more likely it was the cause.   
  
She sighed and leant a bit back. The sudden unexpected contact with his body sent a shockwave through her body. She could not help herself, but stayed that way. He took the knife away and put it pack in his pocket. He realised that he wanted to hold her - to protect her. 'What an unprofessional thought,' he scolded himself. It might be a shame to kill her, but she had to die.  
  
A little voice inside him whispered that he might regret killing her for the rest of his life. He did not listen to it. Instead he grabbed his gun and whirled her around. She almost stumbled over some roots and faced him with about two yards between them. He aimed at her and as always he looked in the eyes of his victim. Pick loved to terrorise others and consumed their fear like others did a glass of fine wine.  
  
This time he saw neither hate nor fear - just sadness. He could not see that she had cried - the tear was gone, but maybe this was the reason while he looked in her eyes for over a minute. He felt as if he was captured in the depth of her eyes. He definitely did not like killing her, but he had to. He mustered and was about to pull the trigger, when a voice interrupted him.  
  
"Pick - Don't shoot her!" It was Fouchon. Van Cleaf lowered his weapon and wondered what his boss and friend was up to. He gave Sandrine a brief look. He would be capable of shooting her, wouldn't he? The more he thought about the girl the less he felt like doing it. His face showed a little smile. The girl turned her head and although she watched him thoughtfully, she did not want to meet his eyes again or see him smiling - the smile made him even look more dangerously.  
  
Then Emil stepped between them out of the woods.  
  
He looked at her and Pick. Something was going on here, but it was not important to him at this moment. He showed her the photo he had found in her purse.  
  
"You know this woman?"  
  
Sandrine was puzzled that he held a photo of her mother in his hand. Did he know her? If she told him, what would happen? She swallowed, knowing that there was only one way to find out.  
  
"That's my mother."  
  
It seemed to her that he had expected this answer. He looked at her, but it was not anymore this depreciating look. For the first time he saw her as a person and not as a value or a threat.  
  
"And how is she?"  
  
"Dead!" The word had come out easily. Her energy was flowing back to her. She did not know why Van Cleaf had such an influence on her - only that he did. The way he smiled at her now confused her and made her heartbeat accelerate, but she knew he would not do anything against Fouchon's orders. Maybe this was the reason for his fading influence. Fouchon was also a mystery to her and for sure he was dangerous, too. Most of all Sandrine could not read anything in Fouchon's face.   
  
Fouchon wondered to what end this revelation would lead, but right now the girl was all that mattered to him.  
  
"Pick - take her back to the house and lock her up."  
  
His right hand walked toward the girl, looked in a discomforting way at her and smiled.   
  
"With pleasure."  
  
Sandrine again felt like losing her ground. Then Fouchon made a forbidding gesture by raising his hand.   
  
'He seems not to be disturbed or surprised. Both get along with each other really good,' she thought. 'Maybe this Pick is satisfied with terrifying people, and killing or harming them is just a bonus for him.'   
  
Van Cleaf touched her shoulder and walked with her toward the street, where a car was waiting.  
  
"Flick - take one of the other cars," he told the guy who was leaning against the pick-up. "By the way - if something comes up - we will contact you until then keep your feet still."  
  
The "dog" hurried away. In his cheap, dirty clothing he reminded Sandrine of the man that made this stupid remark to Van Cleaf the other day. She hoped that the next car was miles away.  
  
Then Pick opened the door for her. She got in, but gave him questioning look. Sandrine had no idea what made him tick. A few minutes earlier he had hunted her like deer and now he treated her like a gentleman.  
  
'I'm still alive', she thought suddenly and felt more confident. Something was going on and as a result she might survive. Even if she was still near him, she regained her self-control. He closed her door and walked around the car without giving her another look. During the ride he glanced at her secretly. He could not believe that she was so calm and settled again. Most of all he wanted to find out what interest Fouchon had in her.  
  
He parked in front of the main entrance. In the very instant he got out, she did the same. As he walked next to her and tried an other of his smiles on her she managed to look unimpressed. Realizing this she almost smiled back.  
  
He gestured toward the house and they went in. Pick brought her back to the room, where the girl had been held before.  
  
Even if Fouchon might not appreciate it, he wanted to play with her. Van Cleaf could not resist, but had to test her. Sandrine looked toward the balcony door. She could open the lock at anytime, but running again would be the last thing to come in her mind. She turned her attention to her captor, who stepped behind the heavy, old chair in front of the fireplace. The chair did not look comfortable, the back was like a window cross and only the upper parts were holstered.  
  
"Sit down", he gestured towards the seat.  
  
She wondered was he was up to, but she saw no use in disobeying. He moved in front of her and took out a pair of handcuffs, then he squat and took her right hand. Sandrine was proud of herself. Even as the cold steel closed on her wrist her face was frozen like a mask.  
  
Pick had his eyes fixed upon her as he came closer. He grabbed her other hand and moved both hands through the spaces in the back of the seat. As he closed the other cuff on her left wrist his face was less than an inch away from hers.  
  
He did not hurry, he enjoyed the situation far too much. Even so she was not trembling like before, he could feel her distraction. She was good, but her breath was too deep.  
  
"What is your name?" he asked her suddenly.  
  
"Sandrine," she answered. Her voice sounded almost like a snarling cat.  
  
She tried to ignore him and since he did not want to push the matter anymore - he got up and went away. 


	3. Changing plans

3.Changing plans   
  
He decided to wait for his friend before in the front yard. If he had decided to walk back - he must have discovered something very interesting about the girl. Normally he came up with a good plan after a few seconds. After thirty minutes he appeared at the front gate. Pick walked towards him, as he came closer his friend spoke to him.  
  
"You are wondering why I changed my mind about killing the girl."  
  
It wasn't a question - it was a statement.  
  
"Well - for sure she is a very special girl."  
  
Fouchon looked up: "She should be - she is my daughter."  
  
Now Pick was really stunned.  
  
"Your daughter? But ..."  
  
His friend handed him the photo of Sandrine's mother.  
  
"You remember I told you once about Fabienne?"  
  
"I do, so that is what she looks like. - But what makes you think you are Sandrine's father?"  
  
"Her birth date. She was born only five months after Fabienne left me. I do not know how she ended up with that - stupid creep - but I'm sure I will find out."  
  
"So we are taking her with us?"  
  
"Oh - we will." He was glad that Pick did not make any remarks. "She is my daughter. I probably will never have any other children and I won't let her step out of my life again."  
  
"I don't mind having her around - not at all." Pick was not really convinced that she was Fouchon's daughter, but one way or the other she might prove herself as a good acquisition.  
  
"No games with her." Fouchon commanded. "I have a small hope that she might accept me as her father - I have to wait for the right moment of course, but she seems to be a very strong person in spite of her father." He spit out the last word.  
  
"You think she will get along better with you - once she knows you?"  
  
"I hope so," Fouchon replied.  
  
"It won't be easy - not after today's episode."  
  
"That reminds me - What was going on between you and her on the clearing?"  
  
"You got me!" said Pick and thought how he could describe it best, but Fouchon did not care to wait for the reply.  
  
"It is not important - just keep in mind that I don't want you to play with her or do anything else. Got it?"  
  
"Yes, I understand," he was not happy about his friends behaviour, but he could understand it. I did not mean he had to like it. So Van Cleaf decided to forget the scene on the clearing. He considered it to be unimportant, but he wished he had not played with her when they returned to the house. Besides, Fouchon would get very upset, if he found out about it. Nonetheless he better should tell him right away.  
  
"Where is she?"  
  
"Up in the guest room."   
  
"I said lock her in - I don't want her to run again."  
  
"I don't think she would - anyway I - chained her to a chair."  
  
"You did what?" Fouchon was quite upset, but then he calmed down.  
  
"To be honest. I did not consider the possibility - you wanting her to like you."  
  
"You are right, Pick. I'm overreacting, but to be honest - I'm confused. You know - I just have become father."  
  
"We should give a party."  
  
Both chuckled.  
  
"We might indeed have one - when we are back in Europe."  
  
They went back to the house.  
  
"Give me the keys to the handcuffs and then prepare our departure. I will drive her in the city. In her clothes we can't take her with us. I hope she was on her way to a christening or something. Her way to dress is really ..."  
  
"I know what you mean."  
  
As Fouchon went upstairs he still had no idea what to do or to say. He never had thought about children, even when he still was with Fabienne. After that he had ensured that he would not have any children. Not that he had that much affairs since then, but he had been so disappointed after Fabienne had left him, that he had felt like he never again would trust a woman enough to have children with her.  
  
Besides, he would have needed a mother for his child, because his profession kept him too often occupied. When he had asked Fabienne to marry him he had really meant it, but her answer was to disappear without a trace. He wondered if she had know that she was pregnant and thus had left him. Not a very convenient thought.  
  
Now his daughter was already grown up. He just have to find a way to get close to her and as his friend had said it will not be easy. As he stepped into the room, she looked towards him, but he saw that she was again playing though girl. At least she did it well. Even with her hands tied behind her back she posed in her chair like a queen ready for the next audience.  
  
"We had a small change of plans. We will leave the country and for some reasons I explain to you later, we are going to take you with us. We have no intention to kill you, but I suggest you do not do anything stupid."  
  
She thought a moment about what to reply and then she decided for a simple "okay".  
  
He looked at her and could understand why Pick was so anxious to toy with her, but he will not allow that. No matter how strong she was, at the end she would loose. His right hand had never lost any of his games, which was very useful up to now. They had many traits in common and as many were different. This was it what made them a perfect team. Fouchon was sure that he would respect his wishes and leave his daughter alone.  
  
"First we are going to buy you something more appropriate."  
  
'What does he think who he is? My father? Why does everyone think he has the right to tell me how I should dress?' Sandrine angered. Her feelings mirrored in her face and Fouchon was a bit startled by her expression. It made her really proud.  
  
The way she looked at him, he realised that his last words had been the wrong thing to say. 'Too late', he thought. Then he stepped behind the chair and released her.  
  
"Can we go?" he pointed towards the door.  
  
"Do I have a choice?"  
  
She got on her feet and crossed her arms.  
  
"Actually - No, but I think you really need new clothing and since I don't know what you use to wear or your size I bet you like to come with me."  
  
"Is that some kind of bribery?" she asked while she got up.  
  
"I'm never had the need for bribery."  
  
They went down into the hall. After Fouchon had handed her a coat, he led her outside to his car. Sandrine was grateful that they had not met Van Cleaf on their way. On the other hand could she understand what he wanted from her, but she had no clue what interest Fouchon could have on her, except maybe that he had known her mother.   
  
What could that mean? Her mother had never talked much about her past - the time before she had married her father.  
  
The city was like dead, but it was no surprise, it was already late in the afternoon and no one was up to a walk on the streets, after last nights shootings. There was an odd silence between them, then she was asked.  
  
"You know any shops around here, you would like to visit?"  
  
"I'm not quite in a shopping mood - I don't care."  
  
"Well I think I remember a shop in Oak Street, which should do."  
  
"I'm sure it will."   
  
Sandrine had no idea what she was doing right now. She wanted to act as if this whole situation did not concern her much. Thinking about the situation changed into a shopping opportunity, this day turned out to be really crazy. The girl had no idea how she should act while shopping.   
  
Fouchon parked the car right in front of the shop. As he went out he was still disappointed, that he still had no idea how to talk to her. He was sure asking her what kind of hobbies she has got or something like that would not melt her shield down. She got out and then she stagnate. He looked into the direction her eyes were fixed on.  
  
He could not believe what he saw. Agent Mosley stepped around a corner, accompanied by to other agents and Chance Boudreaux - this annoying long haired guy that already had stuck his nose to deep in their business. They recognised him in the same moment and the agents brought up their guns. He dodged instinctively behind the open car door. First he wanted to aim his gun, but then they opened fire and he decided to hit the road this time. The shots hit his windshield and others ruined his front. The same moment he jumped behind the wheel he could see Sandrine running for cover. She headed right into the shop and out of point blank.  
  
He backed up and whirled the car around in high speed. This day did not turned out to be very good. Why had this guy to be in this street in this particular moment. This agent was crazy - he could have easily hit his daughter. One of the holes in the windscreen was very close to the right side, but luckily she was quick enough. He would get her back and the sooner the better.  
  
'Without cops - city stops,' he remembered the motto of the protesting police force. 'I never got faster trough a city.'  
  
Agent Mosley still trembled after Fouchon was out of sight. This terrorist with his daughter, after everything he had done to ensure that she would never get to know her real father. He had to kill this bastard no matter the cost. She seemed to be alright, but before he could talk to her he had to get her out of the streets. He said Boudreaux goodbye and went into the shop.  
  
The agents followed him, he was lucky that Agent Palmer and Agent Malloy had been on vacation in New Orleans. He had often worked together with them and they did not ask any stupid questions, when he made decisions. Now he could call for more agents; then he would find this cursed criminal and send him to hell.  
  
"Sandrine, are you hurt?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Good then I'll drive you back to the hotel."  
  
'Thanks you asshole,' she thought. Now she almost got shot twice a day. Still she could feel one bullet passing her close by. Sandrine knew there was no way to talk to him or even insult him, so she did not open her mouth until they reached their hotel room.   
  
It was a small hotel, but quite comfortable and very calm. In other words it was not too expensive, old people usually check in and a priest lived nearby - a nice little spot. The moment she say the building from the insight and the huge cross behind the counter she wished she could be somewhere else - anyplace but here.  
  
Her father told one agent to watch the fire stairs from the outside and the other Agent Palmer to guard the door, then he lead her to their room. Of course he had only rent one room, her father was the worst roommate she could imagine. He was an annoying fellow, not to mention that he used to snore.  
  
"Sandrine - my little girl, what ever the guy told you - don't believe him. He hates me and your mother and would do everything to destroy me. He is a very bad man."  
  
'Am I a five year old?' she wanted to scream, but instead she replied: "I have noticed this already."  
  
"Don't talk to me like that." He yelled suddenly. "Anyway you look awful. A good girl should not run around with dirty socks and by the way whose coat is that?"  
  
Sandrine was already too pissed to answer properly. So she just dropped the coat. Now her father seemed to remember. The large- now dried blood stain from last night made her look even more disturbing.  
  
"Well change, but first tell me what you know about their hiding place."  
  
"Dad, I was blindfolded. I have no idea what I could tell you - except maybe that the room I was held in had a fireplace. Oh- and they said they are going to leave, but that is all I can remember."  
  
"They won't leave, I make some calls and you get under the shower."  
  
And this she did indeed. It felt good to wash away the dirt and the anger. Her mind became clearer as the water sprinkled over her body. For the first time she was glad her father never took her seriously. If Fouchon annoyed her father, she would for sure do nothing to help him in this matter. Seeing him so pissed off had been a real pleasure.  
  
She would really like to know what connection existed between her mother, Fouchon and her father. Unfortunately her father would never tell her and she could not ask Fouchon. She knew where the house was, but knocking on the front door and saying: "Hi - I have one little question before I will go on", was not a good idea. She would probably not even get near the front door.  
  
Then suddenly a horrible thought crossed her mind. She had nothing to wear - she had of course many clothes in her suitcase, but she could hardly imagine that her father would accept one of them. He always wanted her to wear dresses that did not show that she was becoming female. Of course she had a few more dresses at home, but most of her clothes were rather tight. She had not excepted to stay that long together with him to need a second ensemble.  
  
Sandrine stopped the water and grabbed a towel. After she was almost dry, the girl wrapped her self in it and went into the sleeping room. She put her suitcase on the bed and opened it. Most of the stuff was for the party nights her cousin wanted to take her to. She looked through it and thought for a moment, whether she had something with her that would have give her dad a heart attack.   
  
'What am I thinking? No matter how upset he gets he never has any problems with his health, unlike other choleric persons,' she reminded herself. She decided for the lesser evil, so she chose her Esprit-collection. Although the underwear was pretty hot stuff, the jeans and the blouse where quite modest. Her dad probably would still go crazy, but nobody could blame her than for not trying to be cooperative. She slipped in to her gym shoes and headed towards the door.   
  
Agent Palmer almost did not recognised Mosley's daughter as she stepped over the threshold. She looked different with her long, open hair and those tight blue jeans. 'What a hot girl, she is' , Palmer thought 'No wonder her father put her into a school for girls.'  
  
"What is wrong with you?" Agent Mosley suddenly yelled through the hallway.   
  
Sandrine turned around. She had not expected that he would get that mad. On the other hand he saw her not only for the first time in trousers, but with a male staring at her curves.  
  
"Who gave you those clothes?" with this question he pushed her into the room.  
  
'Two month' she told herself 'Then all this will be over, but did she really want to wait that long?'  
  
Today she got nearly killed twice - all thanks to her father and what did he do? Scolding her for wearing cloth all girls at her age used to wear. She had enough of this. She could not stand anymore of his stupid reproaches. She was hurt and angry and she screamed back at him.  
  
"This are my clothes - mine. I don't care if you like them or not - I gonna be eighteen in 57 days and from now on I gonna dress myself."  
  
No sooner she had ended then he slapped her in the face.   
  
"You bitch."  
  
Sandrine could not believe that he really did this. He had not beaten her since she had been eight. Her cheek burned, but so did her fire of resistance. She was no child anymore and today she had faced more serious situations. In that moment she made a decision for herself. She would leave as soon as possible, to see her cousin Veronica, the last relative out of her mother lineage and the only relative she had ever liked.  
  
"That's it, we are finished -I should have done this earlier, because I hate you - I stayed with you because mother asked me to stay with my father - so I might find out if he is really that bad before I leave. I just found out."  
  
He looked at her and for a moment she was really scared, but he did not fluke out.  
  
"You are going nowhere."  
  
Then he rushed out and yelled to Agent Palmer not to let his daughter leave the hotel room. 


	4. On the run

4.On the run  
  
Sandrine took ice out of the freezer into a towel to cool her cheek. She had to get out of here before her father would return. How could she get rid of agent Palmer? She walked up and down in the suite. As the ice melted she put everything into the bathroom. She looked into the mirror. Her cheek did not look that bad on first sight no one could see a sign of the slap she got.  
  
Suddenly the girl got an idea. She went to her suit-case and started to pack her favourite clothes into a sea bag and hung it on the hook next to the door. Later she hung her leather jacket over the hook, it was maybe a little to hot, but a good disguise and she did not want to leave her most beloved clothing behind. After she was finished she opened the door.  
  
Agent Palmer leaned against the wall and suddenly jumped off.  
  
"Sorry - Miss Mosley - I'm not allowed to let you out."  
  
"I wasn't on my way out. I just wanted to ask you if you like to come in. I'm about to order something to eat and thought you might be hungry or at least thirsty."  
  
"That's nice, but I was ordered to watch you."  
  
She got him and with her most innocent smile she said: "Well you can watch me much better inside."  
  
She opened the door wider and stepped aside.  
  
"Yes, that's true", said Agent Palmer and went inside. Sandrine closed the door and went to the phone.  
  
"What do you like to eat?" she asked him.  
  
"Well a Pepsi and Burger would be nice."  
  
Sandrine ordered something to eat for both of them.  
  
"What do you thing my father is up to?"  
  
"Oh - I don't know, he wasn't in a good mood - I didn't ask him and he didn't tell."  
  
"I see."  
  
In the following conversation she discovered that she was not the only one, who did not like her father's way of handling others. Agent Palmer was actually a very nice guy and she did not felt comfortable about what she had to do. When the room service knocked, he watched the door and she took the tablet to the table. While he gave the guy a tip, she put plenty of the laxative in his drink. There was no other way for her.  
  
They eat and talked as suddenly Palmer jumped up and ran into the bathroom. Sandrine asked, if there was something she could do for him and while doing so she grabbed her things and went out. She ran down the floor to the hall, where she took a bus map from the reception and then she went out - into the streets.   
  
She did not want to take the direct bus line to her cousin. She was afraid her father would find her this way and so she decided for a different route. Her next ride would go not sooner than in an hour and she had a lot of time to walk to her bus station. She was busy with her own thoughts or else she would have recognised the two guys passing her at the other street side. Both had taken part in the earlier hunt on her and unfortunately Frick recognised her. He hit his companion with his elbow.  
  
"Hey, you see that bitch over there?"  
  
"I do!" Frack replied bored.  
  
"Can't you see! That is this bitch we hunted this morning."  
  
Frack turned around and looked after Sandrine.  
  
"No way - This is a really hot babe and therefore she is everything that girl wasn't."  
  
"Take a closer look, it is her - maybe this is her night stalker outfit - who cares it is her and when we bring her down we get for sure a reward."  
  
"Yeah - you are right - Damn, so she escaped again."  
  
They followed her. First slow, but Sandrine felt that something was wrong and moved on faster. At the end they ran after her, but Sandrine was faster on the hard ground than in the bayou with her sandals. She got out of sight twice as she ran around a corner. They aimed their guns and hurried after her, but without bikes she was faster.  
  
Suddenly one of the guys started to shoot suddenly. Sandrine dropped behind the next car.   
  
Frick was not a good shooter and that he was running made him miss his target. The bullets hit the wall far from her, but still she had the feeling they had hit her.   
  
She shivered and looked in panic around her. It was not far towards the next car on the other side of the street. From there she could reach the next corner easily. Before she realised what she was doing she run for the next car. This time the bullets came very close. The guy hurried after her as she started for the next corner.  
  
She made it, but it was a mistake, Sandrine noticed on first sight that here were no hiding places. She ran on, but as her pursuers came closer she dodged in a door entrance. She had not really a cover there, but from his point not visible. He stopped shooting, but it was only to come closer in order to get a good shot.   
  
Sandrine just thought about how unfair it was that in the moment she managed to get rid of her father she got killed by a lousy third class criminal. There was a door behind her, but she knew no one would help her. She could not move in this moment - she just felt ice cold. Sandrine faced him and then she heard a shoot. It sounded quiet, like it had been fired far away. The girl expected to feel an impact, but nothing came.   
  
Instead the guy dropped to the floor. In his back was a hole through which blood was running over his jacket Sandrine looked up and saw Pick. He hold still the gun in his hand. His eyes were fixed on her and she must admit that she was almost relieved to see him. Suddenly he turned and shot the other guy. Then he holstered his weapon and walked towards her.  
  
Van Cleaf was on his way to Sandrine's Hotel as he crossed a side street in which he saw two of their employees shooting at a girl. She was hiding behind a car, but then she ran across the street and dropped behind another car. He stopped the car, was he wrong or had it been Sandrine? The girl looked different, but something familiar was about her. He left the car in order to get a glimpse of her profile. It was her.  
  
They chased her in the direction he had come from. He could see her backing into a doorway. One of the dogs went after her and without a doubt in order to kill her. Pick did not waste time with calling. He aimed his gun and shot him. As he dropped to the ground he could see Sandrine. She was looking at him. Again she had not said or done anything. Not even now she tried to run.   
  
Then the other guy disturbed his thoughts, but only for a brief moment then she had his full attention again.   
  
"Not exactly the neighbourhood a girl should walk around at night." He said as he had come closer.  
  
She tried to think of a sharp reply, but she felt still a bit chilly. So she just looked back at him and concentrate on breathing. This had been the third time she had been almost killed and she wondered how long her luck would hold on to her. She still had no idea what was going on and why Pick shoot his own men to save her.   
  
Van Cleaf stood right in front of her, she saw that he was judging her or more likely her outfit. She felt an unease under his looks that was even more disturbing than on the clearing. He could not believe that she was that beautiful. The dress had made her look like fourteen. He knew now that she was seventeen, but she looked more grown up as she faced him now. This time he saw her in a different way. He was sure that Fouchon would not like this at all. Sandrine would not appreciate it either. On the other hand he had been always good in controlling himself and Fouchon knew this.   
  
"Quite a change," he told her finally.  
  
"And what now?" she had to find out what else would come.   
  
"Our plans for you haven't changed."  
  
He stepped back and pointed at the other street side. Sandrine knew that she had only two choices. Following him at her own will or letting him drag her. For a moment she considered protesting, but that would have meant he would touch her and that was the last thing she needed to happen right now. So she made a step forward and was surprised how light her legs suddenly felt.  
  
Van Cleaf walked with Sandrine to his car and opened the door for her. He started the car and went straight out of the city. Fouchon would have left their headquarter already. His job was taking Sandrine to their contact in Mexico, where they could take Mr. Lopaki's yacht.   
  
It would take them a few days, in case Agent Mosley was not a complete imbecile. From what Fouchon had told him about the shooting in Oak street he could hardly believe that he got into his high position. Pick looked at his unwillingly passenger. She looked settled and calm as she stared out of the window into the streets. While stopping on a traffic light he took a closer look at her and realised that her hands trembled - only a bit, but it showed him that his earlier judgement of her was right.   
  
Strong and weak at the same time, a trait he had not seen on a person before. Van Cleaf knew he would hate the next couple of days. Having the most amazing girl by his side and no options to do anything with her.  
  
Sandrine stared out of her window. The thoughts in her head rumoured and she tried to deal with that chaos. Now she would for sure not return to her dad, but if that was really the best for her she could not tell. At least she got the chance to find out what connection was between her mother, her father and Fouchon. If only this dangerous guy would not be so close to her.  
  
He drove on and not a word was spoken for some time. Then Sandrine gathered all her courage together and turned around.  
  
"Do you mind telling me what exactly you planning to do with me?"  
  
"I do." He smiled at her and she turned her attention back to the streets beside her.  
  
"I thought so," she whispered towards the window.  
  
"Does this make you nervous?"   
  
"What do you think?"  
  
Sandrine was clawing her fingers into her knees. The excitement was gone and right now she felt tired and lonely, but the uncertainty kept her awake. She hated it when she was in this mood, especially now, because usually it ended with her crying until she finally fell asleep. The girl did not want him to realise how weak she was. Sandrine already new that she was looking helpless, but as long as she could pretend that she did not give a damn about it, she felt safer.  
  
Two hours passed and neither of them started an attempt to start a conversation. Pick liked to find out what she was doing on the street at night. After he saw that she was carrying luggage with her, he thought that she must be running after having a confrontation, perhaps with her dad, which was not the worst thing. Later he would asked her about it. Asking her right after he denied her an answer, was not a good move.  
  
It was almost 2:00 a.m. when he stopped at a motel, where they could stay without being discovered. He parked the car behind the building. Then he turned around to Sandrine.  
  
"You don't talk in there, you don't behave suspiciously. I promise, if you do, a lot of people will die because of you."  
  
'He didn't want to kill me anymore.' She looked at him surprised.   
  
"You got that?"  
  
"Yes." Sandrine nodded.  
  
He took a small bag from the back seat, after that they left the car. Sandrine walked towards Pick. She wanted to show that she was not up to making troubles. Even if that meant being close to him. He seemed to know this place and opened a door at the backside. She followed him close by. Nobody seemed to be awake. The floor he lead her along, was dark, cold and quite like a tomb. Then he opened another door and light hit her eyes.  
  
The reception was in larger room with other floors and stairs leading from it. The guy behind the counter looked bored, but as he saw Pick, he suddenly jumped up.  
  
"I hadn't expected to see you again."  
  
"Well I see your new identity is still working."  
  
"Yes and I'm very grateful, can I do anything for you?"  
  
Sandrine realised even though she was tired that the guy was really afraid. Either his self control was not good or he was even more scared than she was. Sandrine felt how much Pick was enjoying this. He out stared the other one and then he said: "One room, ground level, if possible."  
  
"I have two left, one with separate beds and the other one, right here with a large one."   
  
He looked at Sandrine and as she saw his smile her knees started to tremble. For a while she really had forgotten what happened earlier. As he turned back to the huge guy she wanted to look for a support. Nothing was alright, even if they did not want to kill her - it did not mean they had anything good in their mind.  
  
"We take the separate beds, the night already has been too long," he answered and reached out for her. Sandrine felt his hand on her back and thought for a moment she would collapse, but then she put her hand on his shoulder and found the hold she needed. He gave her a brief look and his smile showed that he was pleased with the situation.  
  
"The room is at the end of the left corridor, here is the key."  
  
He threw it to Pick, who caught it without letting her go. He just turned and walked to their room with her. As he locked the door, she freed herself and walked right into the bathroom. She sat down on the floor.  
  
'I won't make myself such an easy target," she promised herself knowing that she probably did not manage to keep her promise. She hesitated a moment, then she took her white night-gown and changed. She stuffed her clothes in her bag and left the bathroom. She took a quick look around and went straight to the bed away from where Pick was standing. She dropped her bag in front of it and then she crawled under her blanket.  
  
Van Cleaf was looking outside as he heard Sandrine emerging from the bathroom. Her night-gown made her look innocent, but it also showed everything. Now he was sure that this trip was going to be a torture. Even as her adorable figure was hidden under her blanket, he felt the longing to touch her and explore her body. He liked to see how she would react. He really ought to stop thinking about it.  
  
He focused and then he took out the handcuffs. Although he had a light sleep, it was much safer to chain her. She did not like it and that provided at least a little reparation. Now it was his turn to go to the bathroom. He took an ice cold shower. He was about to return as he realised that he should perhaps put something on, if he did not want to anger Fouchon. He gripped a towel and got his black GI-trousers from his bag. Then he went to bed with his gun ready. 


	5. A bit of roadmovie flavour

5.A bit road-movie flavour  
  
He was used to sleep no more than four hours, so he got up. His hostage was still asleep. She looked still very tempting and not only because her blanket was just covering one leg. Also Van Cleaf was able to deceive others in order to make them think he was as cold as ice, he could not deceive himself. He wanted her. It would been such a pleasure to see her reaction, if he crawled upon her bed.  
  
Unless he wanted Fouchon to end his life - he would have to hold back. So he took her blanket and covered her body with it. Then he opened her handcuffs. He decided to do some exercises before he was going to wake her up. That would ensure that he did not go too far.  
  
As Sandrine woke up, it was already morning, but only a few hours after their arrival. To her surprise her handcuffs were gone, her wrist hurt, but she managed to ignore it. As she sat up she saw her kidnapper working out.   
  
The way the muscles at his back moved as he was doing press-ups fascinated her and she was not able to look away. Even while he got up she was still watching him. She had not realised that he was quite handsome, not to say attractive and most of all dangerous. She had no chance to win against him.   
  
Then he turned and his smile gave her this odd feeling again she had on the clearing and last night. She grabbed her bag quickly and went straight into the bathroom. She locked her self in. After that she took a leak and a shower, she felt better and dressed again.  
  
He was just finished with his press-ups as he caught her watching him. She felt obviously quite uncomfortable about being caught. Her cheeks turned red and she fled into the bath-room. Twenty minutes later she stepped in the living room and sat down on her bed. He had spend the time doing sit-ups and decided that it was time to leave. Before he went to the bathroom, he throw the handcuffs to her. For a second she looked at him and then she chained herself to the bed.  
  
Later they left the motel suite through the window. Just in case, Pick thought. He knew the owner would not dare to call the police or FBI. If they found their way here no one would know the exact time of their departure. They left the yard without being seen. He thought that he would at least need five more days to reach the border. Going straight down was way to dangerous. Spending more time with Sandrine had it's advantages, but also some nasty disadvantages.  
  
Not to mention that he might have to spend even more time with her in the future. That would depend on how well she would accept the fact that Fouchon was her father.  
  
"Damn it," he whispered.  
  
Van Cleaf suddenly realised that his toying around with her, no matter how strong she was, would made it harder for Fouchon to get in touch with the girl. He would have to stop. Now the disadvantages were clearly overcome by the advantages. In the meantime his stomach remembered him of more natural needs.  
  
"Are you hungry?"  
  
"Not yet."  
  
Sandrine just looked outside on the street. She would have liked to eat something, but she did not feel hungry. Somehow she was afraid of taking something from Pick. There was no explanation she could think of, and this worried her even more. He was able to see that she was afraid of him and he liked her to be, but Fouchon wanted her to respect him. He decided to stop by a drive-in.  
  
"I'm really not hungry", she told him.  
  
"Maybe - but I am."  
  
She looked at Pick as if she never would have expected him to have the need for food.  
  
"It will be a long ride. Sooner or later you will have to eat something."  
  
Slowly she took the bag he offered her.  
  
"Do you mind holding this for me?" he said and gave her his cup of coffee. Then he drove on, turned left and their ride along the vast, lonely street continued. After he had finished his meal, she decided to eat something, too. Not a word was spoken until Van Cleaf stopped at a gas station. It was only a small building and not a single person was seen outside. A large sign displayed the words "self-service".  
  
"Give me your hands!" he demanded. She was not up to any confrontations. It wasn't the first time he had used handcuffs on her, but it still felt strange. He chained her to the steering wheel. This time he did came uncomfortably close to her. Nonetheless she was glad as Pick left the car.   
  
He refuelled the car. Afterwards he came to her window to remind her to remain silent. Sandrine nodded and watched him as he entered the building. After a couple of minutes Van Cleaf returned with a handful of magazines and two bottles.  
  
"In case you get bored."  
  
He gave the magazines to her and put the drinks on floor. Sandrine gave him a questioning look and she heard herself saying an automatic thanks, but he just turned the engine on, and gave her no further look. 'It's a start,' Pick thought by himself. As they drove on, she took a look a the papers - Seventeen magazine, YM and Teen magazine. That was not exactly what she was interested in, but for the fourth magazine, Guns and Ammos, she had no use at all.  
  
She decided to take a look in YM and put the other magazines on the backseat. The information she got from the paper was not useful at all. She had her own ideas of how to dress and what make-up suited her best. Simply said Sandrine gave a damn about what was "in". For a while she studied the pictures and read a line here and there, but she had no interest in reading the whole thing.   
  
'Maybe later,' she thought.  
  
"You seem less enthusiastic."  
  
"No, not at all! It's quite exciting."  
  
Pick knew that she was lying. On one hand, it was not his problem that she did not like it or maybe even had read it several times. However it started to annoy him as she started again to look into the colourful, but obviously uninteresting pages. She continued with turning the pages for some time. Then suddenly as they had to stop in a small city. He grabbed the magazine and threw it out of the window.  
  
Sandrine was not sure whether it would have been better, if she had told him the truth. Right now he was upset and the way he looked at her scared her. Nonetheless if she had told him the truth, this would have also been a possibility. Moreover she had the feeling he would use anything she said against her.  
  
"If you don't like it - say it!"  
  
"Well - I always lacked the motivation to read about the latest, ugly outfit that makes me trendy."  
  
"So you do not read teen magazines."  
  
"Only if I have to."  
  
"I see."  
  
They went on. So he just had tried to be kind. 'Is this a good or a bad sign?' she asked herself. Even if she was not sure whether she liked him to be kind, it would be sort of comforting.  
  
'A good start and bad ending,' he thought. Van Cleaf's social skills were not high enough to deal with this particular situation, but he would not give up. It was a challenge and he would be successful, he promised to himself - knowing that the greatest problem lay in his fascination for the girl, but in the end it should not be too difficult to be a bit nicer.   
  
"I will think of it when we stop again," he said after a few minutes.   
  
Sandrine sighted. She had no idea why he was acting once friendly and then again terrorised her. She reckoned that he was currently busy with his own thoughts. Since it did not get him any further to come to the conclusion that she did not like Teen-stuff, he asked her what kind of magazines she read.  
  
"I don't read any magazines or papers."  
  
"Not one you ever looked in?"  
  
"I used to read the Financial Times for school, but that was more of a duty. I'm more into books."  
  
"What books do your read?"  
  
"Mostly science-fiction and fantasy."  
  
"Not part of my interest field."  
  
Again Pick stumbled into a dead end. He thought about how to continue the conversation. Van Cleaf believed that conversation would help the situation. If he only had an idea about what they could talk about. From his point of view their interest were focused on completely different issues. He remembered having seen a Star Trek Movie, but all he could recall was that he liked the bad guy. What had been his name - Khan? That would not be any good topic for them.  
  
This whole thing would be unnecessary if Fouchon had not forbidden him to tell her that he was her father. He might be right, that there was a possibility that she did not believe him, but it was something she could hold onto. For him it would have made no difference at all, except that he could be more relaxed. Sooner or later she would have to learn to deal with him the way he was. Fouchon and he were not only business partners but also friends for a long time.  
  
Until he stopped at the next gas station, they did not talk. Only an old man with obviously bad eyes seemed to run the business. So he got back to the car and released Sandrine. The girl was glad that she had the opportunity not only to go to the girl's room, but also to walk a bit. She even discovered among the few books the third volume of Zahn's Star Wars Trilogy. Pick bought it and also some food and drinks for them before they went on. For the rest of the day she kept on reading and left him to his own thoughts. As she had to put away the book by dusk, he asked her again, if she needed something. Since he wanted to get as far as possible this night. He would take longer rests when they came closer to the border.  
  
Short before midnight they again stopped at a small motel. The old woman behind the counter looked suspiciously at them. Obviously she had not heard of a kidnapping, no TV and no magazines were visible. The keeper was just busy with doing her needlepoint. Whatever the old one thought they were going to do was not something Sandrine wanted to think about.   
  
This time he asked straight for a room with two separated beds for his cousin and himself. Sandrine was not sure if the landlady bought that lie. Her body felt tired, all she wanted to was going to bed and stretching her legs. Sandrine gave her best innocent-little-girl-smile to the woman, who started to look less concerned. Her kidnapper realised that, too. In order not to disturb her performance he even waited to mock her again until they were in their room.   
  
"You are much smarter then I first thought or just more experienced?"  
  
He tried to stare her out. First Sandrine almost fled into the bathroom, but she told herself that this was maybe exactly what he wanted her to do. An other more negative voice in her head, which she tried to ignore, was getting louder as he backed her against the wall. Before she could do anything further he had trapped her. He was just a few inches away, she could even feel his breath on cheek.  
  
"Anyway you are a good actress..."   
  
Before he could finish the sentence she interrupted him still holing eye contact: "No, I am not, this is just my public face."  
  
Sandrine was surprised herself about how cold her voice sounded, how calm she was. So was Pick who took a few steps back and mustered her with an appreciative smile.  
  
"I like your real face much better."  
  
As he turned and went into the bathroom, she knew that somehow she had won this time. She leaned back and still she felt her heart beating as if it would jump out of her chest. Her mind felt burned-out and the feeling of triumph ebbed away with her blood pressure returning to a normal level. Now she really needed sleep.  
  
The girl was full of surprises. Pick was fascinated. He never had met a person who dealt with such a difficult situation so well. He had realised that she was strong, but in the past he had watched even the strongest crumble. His hostage instead built up her strength, also he was able to feel her embarrassment and fear. What would she have done if he had not back off and instead kissed her? He longed to find out.  
  
As he returned from the bath a while later, the girl was sleeping. Even as he rather rudely closed the handcuff on her wrist, she did not wake up. Just as he was about to went to his bed, his cellular phone rang. It was Fouchon, he had already found a new spot, where they could do business without being disturbed.  
  
"And how is she?"  
  
"She is doing fine. Also she is concerned about what our plans for her might be."  
  
"I can't change that now, I am not even sure how I will convince her. I know how hard this must be for you, but I know you can deal with it."  
  
"Of course I can, I am a professional."  
  
"I knew you would say that."  
  
Then he hung up. 


	6. Nemesis

6.Nemesis  
  
Pick was also the first one to awake this morning. Knowing that he would regret it he looked over to Sandrine. She seemed so fragile and peaceful - ready for an invasion. "I need a cold shower," he said and went into the bathroom. Usually it was not hard for him to focus on his assignment, but normally it was his duty to terrify, mutilate and kill others. Therefore it has never been a problem to act professional. Doing his job gave him this special feeling of control, the only feeling in his life that offered constant pleasure and made it possible to stay calm and relaxed. Of course he needed always a great deal of willpower to keep in certain situations together.  
  
Before he met Fouchon he tended to loose himself in the pleasure, but his friend could understand him like no one else and he understood to guide his energies in more constructive directions. Moreover he respected Fouchon, but could not stop thinking about Sandrine in this way. After he was finished and walked back into the room, he thought it was most possible that someone of Fouchon's bloodline was the most tempting and challenging target he had ever met.  
  
For a second Sandrine looked a bit frightened as she was pushed out of her dreams. Seeing her kidnapper face to face as a first impressions was not the best way to start a new day. Being told that she had fifteen minutes in the bathroom did not make up for that. After she was released from her bondage she hurried with her bag into the bath so fast, that she forgot her clothes outside.  
  
The other clothes were to much shorter than she liked them to be, but she had no time to think about that. A short jeans and an armless top was the best thing she could find in her hurry. She rushed out and put her stuff in her bag.  
  
"Seven minutes - not bad."  
  
"So at least one of us is happy."  
  
Pick could not help, but smiling. She got much better on pretending not to care. He wondered if she belonged to the kind of victims who would beg for mercy. That was the worst thing, he normally did not give much about, because he never granted mercy. It had been simply irrelevant if he could humiliate a person for the entire rest of her life or not. Sometimes it was just more fun watching them beg.  
  
In her case it was different, perhaps because he never was involved with a victim like this. Of course, putting Fouchon's involvement aside, he could hurt her, rape her and even kill her, but if he wondered if he could make her beg for mercy. He really liked to know.  
  
He decided not to make any conversational attempts, instead he concentrated on the street, the weather and the landscape. Pick hated all of those, mainly because they were boring, but that was the idea. Sandrine continued with her book and until he had to stop for gas, he did not pay much attention to Sandrine.  
  
This day she could not follow the storyline at all. Burning questions came into her mind. Most of all she was not able to ignore the possibility that Fouchon maybe wanted to sell her to one of his clients. At least about Fouchon being a ruthless and very dangerous individual her father was right. If he knew guys who paid for hunting down a man, he might also knew someone who liked to pay a fortune for a young and beautiful virgin.   
  
If he had wanted revenge for something that happened between him and her mother, he was most likely to do something like it. Of course his associate might like to help him out with that, although she hoped that if Van Cleaf had any intentions to rape her he would have already done so. Although she was aware of him playing games, she hold onto this idea.  
  
This time the gas station was not the optimal choice, but he had not found a good one earlier and he was not taking any risks. Outside a small town was better than one in a small village. Beside a shed and a decayed looking building the place was easy to overlook. .He chained Sandrine this time to her door, so nobody could see it - until he walked closer to the car. He fuelled the tank and went in to pay and buy some cold drinks. He really hated this hot climate.  
  
No sooner he had disappear in the building that two unpleasant looking fellows walked out of the small hut. The moment Sandrine saw them it was too late for her trying to close the window at her side. As they started talking to her she could smell the cheap beer they had drunk.  
  
"What a cute hopper we got here, don't you want to come out and play with us."  
  
He grabbed at her and as she backed off the handcuffs cut into her wrists.  
  
"So, that is going on here, you and the guy playing a bit, mind us to join?"  
  
The first guy came closer and just as he was about to touch her breasts with his dirty fingers, the noise of someone hitting the ground made him turn his head. Just in time to see a shadow. Then Pick kicked hard in the hollow of his right knee and banged his head against the car. Unconscious the guy dropped to the floor. Sandrine was relieved to see him, but still this disgusting feeling was over here. She never had felt anything like it, alone the thought of one of this guys touching her made her feel sick. It was more than just a little nausea of her stomach, she felt like throwing up everything in her digestive tract.  
  
Van Cleaf misjudging her silence asked her: "Well - Tell me what you would have done, but don't expect me to believe you wouldn't at least like to smash in their fucking stupid faces."  
  
"Great and HOW?" Her anger made her ignore the pain of the handcuffs cutting in her flesh even deeper as she raised her hands to show him that she would not have been able to. Pick just grinned. She might indeed be of Fouchon's lineage. He bend down to unlock her as she suddenly yelled: "Behind you."  
  
He had paid her so much attention that he had not noticed that the guy he had struck down first got on his feet with a ready knife. Sandrine's warning came early enough. Two strikes send his feeble opponent to the floor. From the new stronger bleeding Pick would make any bet that this time it would take him much longer to get up. What a shame that he could not take more severe measures, but anything behind common fist fight, would caught too much attention.  
  
"Shall I call the police?", the keeper shouted out of his door.  
  
"That won't be necessary - I think they got something to think about."  
  
With a sinister laughing the man disappeared into his shop.  
  
He shrugged, then he took the fresh water bottle from the ground and got back into the car. Sandrine seemed still to be a bit upset.  
  
"Why did you warn me?" Pick asked her.  
  
"That guy had a knife," she reminded him. Although she knew, that this was not all what made her shout. Sandrine had a clear idea what those guys had wanted from her. Whether she was better up with Pick, she would not dare to say, but at that moment she had pretty much felt like it. Besides, her reaction might have improved her situation. Thinking it over she was sure that Pick would have won against that guy anyway. Only that her warning had saved him from an unpleasant injury. Having a psychopathic, sadistic killer as your kidnapper was bad, but for sure, having a psychopathic, sadistic killer with a knife wound as your kidnapper would have been much worse.  
  
"I am afraid you have to remain in handcuffs for a time," He did not say it like he was sorry. She felt that he was not unhappy about this development at all. "I don't want to stop until we got away from this pitiful scenario."  
  
It was really convenient for him that the keys for the handcuffs were on the same chain as the car keys.   
  
'I expected too much, " Sandrine thought.  
  
At least the pain was gone, but reading was not possible. Not that she was not much in the mood for it. For a moment she considered asking him if she could release herself. Two reasons held her back. First she was not sure if she would make it. Theoretical she knew the tricks, but she never tested it on handcuffs. Second he might not take it well that she was able to open them herself.  
  
Pick liked the picture of Sandrine in handcuffs. It made no difference if she was asleep or awake, she did not show any sign of embarrassment over her being chained. Most people seemed to feel humiliated just by the contact of the cold metal against their skin. Sandrine acted like it was no more than a unhandy accessory. He was astonished. Naturally he preferred it the other way. 


	7. Bad Dreams

7.Bad dreams  
  
Both were silent for a long time. Van Cleaf had to admit that he was not successful with building a base for Fouchon. Sandrine seemed bored, but as he looked closer he could see that she had something else on her mind. Unfortunately she was hiding it very well. He was not sure what exactly had gone wrong this time.  
  
As he started to think about it almost an hour was gone. It seemed that since the little fight on the gas station an even larger gab had opened. He came to the conclusion that it must be about him beating up those vermin. It was perhaps to much to expect from her to accept solutions like that from the beginning. Also he could not imagine that she would have known any better solution. He hated spending so much time thinking over this boring incident with those lowlifes.   
  
"You know they are not dead," he finally told her. This was maybe not enough, but he did not manage to come up with something else. From her came no reply, she just looked at him and he could not believe that she was thinking about something else to say. Sooner or later she would have to learn that he and her new father killed people for fun or for money. Drunks like them would have been dead before they hit the ground, but nonetheless he said: "That was the right thing to do - with people like that you have to deal that way."  
  
"I give a damn about them being dead or not."  
  
That were good news. Could he have misjudged her so much? From the first moment he had met her he had thought he was sure about at least one thing: That girl was well-mannered. Somehow even after all he learned about her this had not changed. Fouchon might indeed find a way to his daughter.   
  
Sandrine was surprised about her own words or more about them being true. She did not care about those guys, they were gone that was all that mattered. She began to wonder why Van Cleaf had told her that they were not dead? It did not seem to fit to him at all. Anyway without knowing his reasons he had helped her out of this situation.  
  
"Thanks," she said before thinking twice about it. He looked at her a bit confused and she added: "For getting them out of my sight."  
  
"On this journey the only thing you have to fear is me."  
  
Sandrine gave him a short nod, after all that had happened since she run away from her dad, she had already guessed that it might be that way. It was not comforting, but on the other hand he had shot two of their employees to save her. Obviously Fouchon still wanted her alive. Of course he did, he stopped Pick earlier, but that she was that valuable to him, she had failed to notice. She thought a moment about it, then she decided that if she wanted to figure out what this was about she would have to ask questions.  
  
"Why did you kill the men that evening, didn't they work for you?"  
  
"I didn't remember his name and apart from that the only way to ensure that he didn't kill you was to kill him first."  
  
"So he wants me alive." This was a stupid statement. What she really wanted to know was why he wanted her alive, but she did not dare to ask Van Cleaf.  
  
"I was ordered to get you alive and mostly unharmed to him."  
  
That was not what Sandrine wanted to hear. After thinking a while about it, she came to the conclusion that Pick maybe just played around with her because he was not sure what Fouchon would say if he went any further. In fact he tried to be nice to her. Sandrine saw that her kidnapper obviously was not familiar with this situation as well. It was all so confusing, maybe the best she could do was seeing Pick as someone who was their to protect her. She simply could not ignore that he was a dangerous, psychopathic killer, could she?  
  
"Do you think we are now far enough away from the gas station?"  
  
First Pick did not understand what she meant, but then she moved her hands. He smiled, it was a clever way of putting it. He stopped the car and removed her handcuffs. Her wrists already showed bruises, but she acted as if everything was normal. He had to admit that he was beginning to respect the girl. Considering the idea that everyone was either wolf or lamb, he was not anymore sure if she really belonged to the sheep.   
  
Sandrine took a drink from the backseat, before she tried again to read. It was useless, she could not concentrate on the story. After reading through a whole chapter without feeling or enjoying anything she threw it in frustration behind her.  
  
"Was it that bad?"  
  
"I don't know - I guess I am not in the right mood."  
  
"Too much else on your mind?"  
  
"Yes," Sandrine said and looked out of the window, her arms wrapped around her.   
  
Nobody got either the mood or the right idea to say anything else. So for the rest of the day they did not talk much.  
  
The only difference was that they stopped much earlier for the night. This time they stopped by a small house a bit offside the road. The next living person was miles away. The only surprise was that the house had a real good security system. Pick opened the door by typing the right number into the number pad.  
  
"You got a lot hiding places over the countryside?"  
  
"Of course, I got many connections and they are all experienced with escaping the officials."  
  
He went into the house and led her to a room at the end of the corridor.  
  
"This belongs to an old colleague, we will use his guestroom. If you want to, you can take a bath."  
  
Sandrine nodded and went into the guestroom. The whole interior had a warm, almost comforting atmosphere. She had spend a holiday in a smaller house like this once, but the occasion has not been more pleasant than this one. A bath was indeed a good idea, she decided. She got her night-gown and went into the bathroom. The furniture alone had locked much more expensive in contrast to the outside, but the bath was a dream.  
  
It seemed to Sandrine that the phrase "crime does not pay" did not fit for Fouchon, Pick and their old colleagues. She spend over two hours in the bathroom. Only once Pick knocked and told her, that she could use everything that was in the unlocked cupboards.  
  
Pick decided to call Fouchon to straighten out the last details of the escape. Fouchon would for sure have activated their other contacts and could tell him time and place were they would get picked up in Mexico. They cleared all necessary points and if everything run like expected, Pick would have to spend three more night alone with Sandrine.  
  
"Any improvements?"  
  
"I'm not sure, I do my best, but this is your problem."  
  
"Yes, it is my problem."  
  
"The agreement with Spencer also includes that we could plunder his freezer?"  
  
"Everything that is unlocked, is for guests. - I think from now on, we communicate only when something unforeseen happens."  
  
"O.K."  
  
He did not want to tell Fouchon what exactly happened or that he was eager to set a sign, especially because he was not sure what sign. The whole afternoon he was thinking about a way to get in touch with Sandrine. He came up with a thousand ideas about what he could do to tease and frighten her. At the end he thought that maybe if he could present her something more presentable to eat after three days with little or fast food, she might thaw up. The freezer did not offer that much, but maybe eating from plates would do also.  
  
Later he almost believed it worked. Sandrine sat in her white night-gown with a white towel around her head and looked much more relaxed. They did not talk much, but he was to busy with hiding that he was staring at her most of the time. His hostage might look cute lying in her bed, but seeing her closer in that gown, she was simply beautiful. After dinner she took care of the dishes without saying a word. He watched her, something unusual was about the picture, but Pick could not figure out what it was.  
  
Soon afterwards they went to bed. He decided against using handcuffs. Sandrine might be able to unlock the door, but he would wake up, before she could even take a look on the front door and all windows had huge bars on the outside. The girl wondered first if he might have forgotten to chain her, but she came to the conclusion that she would not be able to get anywhere. Then she fell asleep.  
  
Later that night Sandrine suddenly sat up, which alarmed Pick, who instantly woke up - his gun ready in his hand. Then he saw her. She was staring at the edge of her bed - her breath was heavy and fast. Even he saw that she had a real bad nightmare. It was just that the mercenary was surprised about a civilian having that bad kind of nightmare. Under old colleagues he had often seen such signs - not everyone was hard enough for this kind of job, but what possible could trouble the girl so much?  
  
On second thought he got an idea. Pick put the gun away and walked over to her. Also being half awake, she still was imprisoned in her nightmare. Sandrine looked at him as he came closer, but her eyes showed no sign of recognition. They seemed to look right through him. She was scared, but there was something over her expression. It was sadness, Pick realised in the moment he sat down beside her and shook her until the look in her eyes changed.  
  
He could not explain why he acted this way, but he felt the urgent need to help her. It was really strange, but as he thought about it he remembered that once before he felt like this. For a short moment on the clearing - that could not be! He looked at his hostage. She was confused.  
  
Sandrine had always the same dream. Her mother sat beside her on the bed. She talked softly and then the voice changed very slowly to something cold and grunting. When she looked up to her mother, she saw a monster. A monster she could not even describe, she mainly felt emotions. Normally she was not afraid of monsters or darkness, but dreaming to be scared was a different matter. Before the monster could reach her with its claws, she used to wake up. Only this time she saw Pick sitting on her bed, his hands on her shoulder.  
  
"Bad dream?"  
  
She nodded. Sandrine hated that dream she could not fall asleep for hours after it. Everything around her seemed like twilight zone, but Pick's presence changed this. His warm hands on her shoulder banned the chill feeling. She had never been woke up by anyone, not even when she had been younger. Looking at him, she saw that he was a bit worried. Stranger than this was that she felt safe and most of all that she was glad that he was there.  
  
"Was it about ... ," he started to speak slowly hoping he would stumble over a better phrase, but she interrupted him. She immediately understood what he wanted to know.  
  
"No, it had nothing to do with you - not at all."  
  
"So what was it about?" he asked carefully, but she simply shook her head.  
  
Sandrine never talked to anyone about her bad dream and for sure she would not tell Pick. His question brought the hunt back in her mind. She could not risk giving him any clues about how to reach her most vulnerable spot. She was the hostage, no matter how friendly he tried to be, Sandrine knew to well what he was like. She moved a bit back to show him that she wanted him to let go of her shoulders.  
  
"Thanks, I'm alright now."  
  
"Ok, then," he said as he rose up and added, "sleep well."  
  
Sandrine laid down and Pick went back to his bed confused about his feelings. He thought a while about it and came to no conclusion, except to trust his instincts. They never failed him and kept him out of the worst trouble. Sandrine fell asleep only a few minutes afterwards. 


	8. Unexpected revelations

8.Unexpected revelations  
  
In the morning he did not feel like getting up, unlike Sandrine. The girl sat on her bed, her book in her hands looking at him. She almost said 'Morning', but she could not manage to say it loud.  
  
"If you want you can take you time in the bath."  
  
"I'm used to be fast. In my first school I was always under five minutes."  
  
Leaving he asked: "How comes that?"  
  
"I liked to sleep out. We had to get up 45 minutes before breakfast, I got up 10 minutes before - but I made it mostly in time."  
  
"What happened if you didn't?"  
  
"I didn't get anything for breakfast."  
  
"Let me guess - your father picked that school for you."  
  
"Of course - talking about breakfast, is there something we can eat?"  
  
"Only what's in the freezer," he replied and got up.  
  
Maybe a shower would wake him up. He told Sandrine that he would buy something fresh then. Quickly they got ready to continue their journey. In the next small village Pick stopped by a food-shop and returned with some fruits.  
  
"That's better than fast food, isn't it?"  
  
Sandrine grabbed a fruit, bit into it and replied after chewing on it: "Much better."  
  
At least today it appeared to her that Pick was not up to continue his cruel game with her, but she might be wrong. Meanwhile her kidnapper decided to make a new attempt for conversation.  
  
"Have you finished school now?"  
  
"Yes, I'm seventeen."  
  
"True - but you never know."  
  
For a moment he thought that he lost it again, but then his hostage said: "Luckily I didn't have to do any extra turns."  
  
"Was it at stake?"  
  
"Almost - My father took me out of my old school and I haven't taken it well."  
  
"Why was that?"  
  
"Because I had a very good friend - my roommate - at that school. In fact she was the only real friend I had. Not only that he sent me to another school, he somehow managed to break off all contact between us."  
  
Her voice was full of hate while she spoke. Sandrine was surprised of how much it still upset her to think about Tessa. She had tried to find out what happened to her, but her father moved her to a different school. Sandrine had the bad feeling that something bad had happened to her friend.   
  
Pick was quite interested in this topic. He saw that this was slippery ground, but he decided it was worth the risk. If he found out at what terms she was with her stepfather it would could help Fouchon.  
  
"You are not always happy about your father's decisions?"  
  
Never Van Cleaf would have expected this reaction. Sandrine turned her head, looked at him and yelled: "Not always? Never! He is an asshole - always afraid that someone might have fun somewhere."  
  
She suddenly stopped realizing what she had just done. Sandrine felt the heat of her anger vanishing. Her whole body trembled, she did not even realised that Pick was not upset. In fact he smiled like someone who just got wonderful news. The way she had let her feelings go reminded him of Fouchon. Now their was no doubt left, about her being his daughter. He happily looked at her, but he managed to ban the smile from his face. His co-driver looked at him and her expression showed that she was worried.  
  
"I'm sorry, it's just, whenever something good happens to me my father ruins it - and if something bad happens he is responsible."  
  
"Sounds like he is nobody someone likes to have as a father."  
  
"You can say this loudly." She turned her eyes back to the street and mumbled: "At least he isn't my real father."  
  
Now Van Cleaf was really surprised, he stepped of the gas. He could not believe what she just had said. Slowly pronouncing every single world he asked her: "What exactly did you mean with saying 'at least he isn't my real father?"  
  
Sandrine stared at him. She was a bit shocked about his reaction. Sandrine was concerned that if she told him the truth about her father that she might loose her status as a valuable hostage or that it would annihilate any reason keeping her alive. As Pick saw this he added: "Whatever you say only improves your situation."  
  
The girl realised that there was no way to avoid an answer. She always favoured telling the truth rather than lies.  
  
"You are familiar with blood types?" she asked him.  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"I've got Type O negative and he's got Type AB positive. So it's impossible that he is my real father."  
  
"Nice," Pick said driving faster again.  
  
He couldn't believe that the girl held her father responsible for the situation she was in. She really hated him and she already knew that he was not her father. Also he knew that Fouchon would be very happy when he hears this, he decided it could wait. While should Fouchon stop sitting on hot charcoal's before he could? He still got nothing out of this.   
  
Pick looked at the clock - only half of the day was over. It would be a hard time, driving all day was not easy. Van Cleaf liked to find out more about her, but he thought it might be better to stop any further attempts for the next hours. He had already discovered enough. So for some time they remained silent.  
  
"It is boring driving for hours, isn't it?" she suddenly said.   
  
Her voice sounded a bit thin, but Pick was glad that she tried to do some conversation on her own. She was a brave girl for sure.   
  
"Indeed, it is," he replied carefully.  
  
"I'm afraid I can't drive."  
  
"Your father did not want you to - I expected this. It is alright."  
  
Sandrine felt a bit better, now he did not seemed to be that scary anymore. A strange feeling still lasted when she thought about it, but she tried hard no to think about what happened.  
  
"May I ask you something?" he asked her suddenly.  
  
"What is it?" She said, expecting him to ask something uncomfortable. He had been friendly for some time now and half way she expected him to do something that would make her faint. Yesterday she had been close to do so.   
  
"Why don't you tell me a bit more about you? It might help to pass the time."  
  
"And what?" Sandrine was still suspicious. If she told him more about herself, he could use it against her.  
  
"You said your father took you out of school. Any special reason?"  
  
"We were caught as we returned from a party in the morning."  
  
"We?"  
  
"Tessa and I. Father said she had a bad influence on me. She was my friend, even if she could talk me into something, she wouldn't do it. Either we both were in the mood or none of us went out. And that she advised me in lock-picking was our secret. There was no way he could know about it."  
  
Van Cleaf smiled, she had indeed done good work on the door lock.  
  
"So you happened to be in a school for difficult children?"  
  
"Yes and I learned some interesting things from the other girls, although I haven't tested them all."  
  
"Not exactly what your stepfather had in mind."  
  
"I guess not," Sandrine said and smiled a bit, "but he only sees what he wants to see."  
  
"Therefore that dress," Pick stated.  
  
"I'm his little girl. Yesterday he ...," Sandrine stopped. She wasn't sure if it was good idea to tell him what the reason why he had met her on the street really was. He wondered how she and her stepfather got along with each other nowadays.  
  
"Yesterday?"  
  
"We had a little argumentation about me wearing jeans."   
  
This was no lie and from her statement he could not think of what happened. What exactly happened in their hotel room? She had been so angry, that there had not been any time to think it over. Now with enough time passed, she still had the feeling that leaving her father had been the best thing she could do. Maybe the time was not that good, but they would never have got along with each other.  
  
She looked at Pick who had left her to her thoughts. What plans did they have for her? Did they want revenge for something her father had done to them in the past? At least he had gone crazy when he had seen Fouchon. How did her mother fit into this?  
  
Then they stopped again at a small gas station. Her watch showed 4 p.m.  
  
"Are you now hungry?"  
  
"Yes, I am."  
  
"I'm afraid I can't take you to a restaurant until we left the country, so the gas station will have to do. Think about it while I refuel the car."  
  
Then he got out. This whole day he tried to be nice to her, considering his behaviour the two past days, she wondered what he would do tomorrow. As long as he was in this mood, she decided to take advantage of it.  
  
After they had fuel again, he asked her what she wanted. Sandrine named a few things, he nodded and went inside. Also she was out of sight and it took him some time to get out again, she remained in the car. She liked to get out and have a walk, but she didn't want to anger him.  
  
He didn't waste much time, he handed her the bag with food and started again.  
  
They talked sometime about food, while they were eating and continued afterwards as they discovered that they shared a common love for steaks and some other meals. Meanwhile it was getting darker and Sandrine considered asking him how far he wanted to go this night.   
  
"Is it possible that we could eat something for real, I mean I like fast-food and chips, but nothing beats a real meal."  
  
"I agree with you, but it's to dangerous to go into a real restaurant, somebody might recognise you."  
  
Sandrine almost expected this answer, even though the last picture her father got from her was two years old, if her father showed it around, someone might still identify her. Then she got an idea.  
  
"I would need two things from a drugstore and an hour, after that no one will recognise me."  
  
"What do you have in mind?"  
  
"Get a haircut and dye my hair black."  
  
Pick looked at her to imagine how she would look.  
  
"I always wanted to do that, but I knew that it would only be good for more trouble when I'm back home."  
  
"That might indeed work out, if I see a possibility to get what you need, we can give it a try. What besides hair colour do you need?"  
  
"Scissors, of course or do you have one with you?"  
  
"No, although it is very useful equipment."  
  
Sandrine was not sure why he was again smiling like a child in front of a pile of presents, but she decided that she was not interested in the answer. She liked to ask him again, what they would do with her upon reaching their destination, but she did not expected him to have changed his mind. So she became quite once more.  
  
The shop he stopped by supplied everything she would need. He even told her to buy all kind of cosmetics she would need. At first she just picked a few things out, but it seemed not enough for him.  
  
"Don't tell me this is all you need. I might not know what women use specifically, but I do know that it is much more."  
  
Pick was proud that he thought of this. His hostage might come to the conclusion that if he was willing to spend a lot of money on this, killing her anytime soon could not be the purpose. Telling her this straight would not have convinced her. About this point Fouchon was right for sure. Furthermore - was it not a nice gesture?   
  
Sandrine hurried while collecting cosmetics that would last for a month, provided that she would go out every night. As they left the shop it was already dark and they had lost over half an hour. Pick looked at her.  
  
"We go on a bit longer tonight and before we continue in the morning you can take care of your hair."  
  
"Ok", she replied wondering how long he would get along with less sleep. She decided to ask him.  
  
"I don't need that much sleep and besides I can rest when we have arrived."  
  
After a two hours they checked into a motel. It was already routine for Pick. He could not help but observe the girl from time to time a bit closer, but besides that he considered himself more than successful in dealing with Sandrine so far.   
  
Lying in her bed Sandrine was surprised, how fast she got used to the situation - even to the handcuffs. The girl began to believe that in the end everything would turn out good. This was not an ordinary kidnapping, was it? After all travelling with Van Cleaf was not that bad. Even though he still scared her sometimes - especially when he looked or smiled at her, he had not tried to intermediate or to terrorise her. Even the girl was aware how hard this is for him. 


	9. Quite a change

9.Quite a change  
  
The next morning she woke up early, but Van Cleaf must have had been up long before - since her handcuffs where gone. He still had not changed and studied the magazine he brought for himself. It appeared to her that he was a bit overslept. Sandrine took her bag, went into the bathroom and took a last look on her long, blond hair. Then she started brushing it. The girl was anxious to get the new haircut she had wanted for so long.   
  
For her it was like a final break-up with her father and whatever would happen she knew that from now on she would never again pretend that she was someone else. Sandrine was not even sure why she had plaid this game so long. Maybe because she was afraid of him? That could not be the only answer, the relationship to her parents had always been difficult. For a long time she was not able to explain why she loved them in one moment and hated them in the next one. Then after her father took Tessa away from her she learned to her surprise that it was not her father she hated most, but her mother. From him she did not expected anything, she was not even sure if by this time there was any positive feeling left for him, but that her mother did not do anything to help her was a more painful experience than the loss itself. Always she obeyed and behaved as if her father could not possibly do anything wrong.  
  
Suddenly Pick's voice interrupted her thoughts: "Changed your mind?"  
  
"No - not at all."  
  
She had not realised that he got also up. Sandrine put the brush on the shelf under the mirror. Then she asked him, if he could hand her the scissors over. He walked over to her and was about to give her the scissors, as he said: "On second thought, I think it will be easier, if I do the cutting. At least I can see what I'm doing."  
  
"That would be nice," Sandrine said carefully, she was not to happy about the picture of Van Cleaf behind her with a sharp blade. Although she knew that he was right. She would have had some problems keeping her hair on the same length.  
  
"And how short do you want it to be?" he said, stroking her hair with his free hand.  
  
"About this long," she said holding her hand under her ear.   
  
He leaned forward and took the brush from the shelf. As he started combing her hair, her skin began to tingle and her feet were getting colder. Being close to him felt so strange. Remembering the last time he stood close behind her - it had been the same odd feeling. Only then she thought it was a side effect of her fear. What was the meaning of this? Sandrine didn't move an inch. She listened to the noise of the scissors cutting through her hair and felt the brush moving through her hair from time to time. She came to the conclusion that it was not a bad feeling. It was strange and unusual, but not bad.  
  
Van Cleaf needed a bit to figure out the best technique. Making a straight haircut, was not that hard. Keeping his hands from exploring her body was much more challenging. The moment he reached out for the brush, he was so close to her that he could feel the heat of her body. He should have stayed away from her, but he did not want to. So he had to endure the torture he laid on himself. It was probably the best willpower training he ever had, he thought while he was returning to the main room. Since he was already falling behind with his regular training he decided to put his roaming energies to good use.  
  
Sandrine on her part was quite happy with the result. Already she looked a bit different. Her head felt so light. Slowly she touched her neck. This was much better. Fixing her hair with pins on her head took too much time and did not last very long. After Pick left her alone she began to mix the ingredients together and started dyeing her hair. It took a bit longer than she had expected. Carefully she wrapped the towel she had put on her shoulders around her head. She went also back into the main room and sat down on her bed.  
  
Uneasy with her thoughts about him she decided not to look at his exercising. Instead she tried to escape into the Star Wars Universe, but soon she gave up, disturbed by his heavy breathing. Slowly she lowered her book, unable not to look at him. She thought about her art teacher telling her that ancient statues showing muscular warriors where just idealisations of the reality. What would the teacher think about her kidnapper?  
  
'Maybe it's because I'm attracted by him, that I feel strange close to him', she asked herself. 'Wouldn't that only be natural? I'm seventeen and lately haven't seen many members of the opposite sex!' The only thing that did not figure in was that she was sure that she did not considered him to be attractive until the morning after her second kidnapping.   
  
As he was about to get up, she looked back into her book. It was unavoidable that she had to deal with this, but she tried to delay the issue as far as possible. The problem was that Pick made it practical impossible to ignore him. Shortly afterwards she felt that he was looking at her and rose her eyes to meet his gaze. Did he know that she had observed him again? His face offered no clues.  
  
"How long?" he asked her.  
  
"At least 15 Minutes," she said after checking her watch.  
  
Pick nodded slowly and attended his clothes. The girl saw that he was taking out the handcuffs, she almost had expected this. Sandrine knew that she would not try to escape - not again, but she was also sure that he wouldn't take any risks. Therefore she tried to appear as relaxed as she could as he chained her again. The one time he did this she believed that he was just careful, the next time it appeared to her that he was simply enjoying it.  
  
He went into the bathroom and took a brief shower. The past minutes he thought about Sandrine, actually he was thinking most of the time about her. He got no idea why the girl had such a huge affect on him. On the one hand he could not wait to hand her over to Fouchon, but on the other hand he felt that he would miss having her for himself. As he returned and released Sandrine, she did not seem to be angry or intimidated at all.  
  
With a smile on her face she headed for the bathroom. She got the colour out of her hair, tried to dry it as good as she could and then she cleaned herself a bit up. She had not expected that the dark colour made her look more grown up, but she loved it. Tessa had been right after all. She looked through her clothing and decided for a short blouse and a long skirt. She collected her things and went out.  
  
The moment Pick saw her he was fascinated. His hostage looked really different, more like a young woman than a little girl. 'If she can change a few attitudes like she changed her appearance, she might really get along with Fouchon and me,' he thought. Then he said loud: "That's quite a change - to the better."  
  
Sandrine smiled, which made her even more beautiful: "Thanks. - I bet I know someone who will get a heart attack, if he sees me like this."  
  
"Let's get on the road, we are good in time, but if we want to stop by a restaurant tonight, we shouldn't loose to much time."  
  
They packed their stuff together and left.  
  
They ate a few snacks from the gas station where they stopped by for breakfast. The whole time Pick had the feeling that Sandrine wanted to ask him something. He would take any bet that it was her next attempt to find out what plans they had for her. It was for sure fun to led her tumble in the dark and seeing her being afraid, but in this case it wasn't a good solution.  
  
The question was what could he tell her without giving anything away that he was forbidden to say. "Later," he told himself, "when she had cleared everything with Fouchon I will find ways to frighten her from time to time." This helped him to focus on the current issue. He wished he would had have a bit more practice in social skills, he wasn't sure how well his instinct could aide him in this situation.   
  
"If Fouchon wanted to see you dead, he wouldn't have stopped me earlier. I can't tell what he wants exactly, but I don't think you have to be worried about your future. I hope this helped you and answered your question."  
  
Sandrine was surprised, she had not expected that Van Cleaf would even give her a hint about their future plans and know this. Although she could see that he did not like saying this, fact was he did say it. Furthermore she was sure that he knew what to Fouchon wanted her for, but also that he did not lie. That was not like him, so much she learned. When he had played his games, he revealed facts that people like to put aside with words and physical force. If he lied, he ruined that.  
  
"Oh it helped, but it wasn't what I wanted to ask you."  
  
"It wasn't?" Before he could decide if he was more angry or surprised, he say her smile and had to think about something he told him yesterday morning. 'At least one of us is happy.'  
  
"So what was it you wanted to know?" he said finally.  
  
"I wondered how I should address you?" she said slowly.  
  
"Pick, just call me Pick, that's fair enough or else you demand that I call you 'Miss Mosley'."  
  
"Oh no - never! I hate that name and I also hate being called Sandy, my dad does this all the time."  
  
Van Cleaf took the chance and asked her what she liked to do, when her father would not stay in her way any longer. Again Sandrine surprised him, also she got no real clue what she liked to do for a living, she had a plan what she liked to do in the next years. First of all, she wanted to find Tessa, this should not be to hard for them to figure out. He was pretty sure that Fouchon had not anything against Tessa influencing Sandrine.   
  
The girl told him that she wanted to travel through Europe with her friend. She had put aside enough money to get started. In case they could earn enough money on their trip, they would count on Tessa's special abilities. It seemed that Tessa was good at stealing cars, filching and a some petty offences. Sandrine seemed not to have any problems with this. She told him her father should help her out and since he would not she had to help herself.  
  
The more she told him about herself the more he could picture Sandrine besides her real father. She got many different interests, especially in music, but she also liked the kind of music her father listened to and many of the stuff he preferred most. She like to go to theatres and not only to cinemas. Her education was much better than he had expected, she had a good basic knowledge and was very open minded.  
  
Sandrine was actually someone, despite her age, he and Fouchon could talk to. Maybe he should call Fouchon tonight, it was already about time. After a few minutes of silence she suddenly asked him: "And what do you do when you are not hunting or kidnapping someone or doing anything like that."  
  
"My job is my hobby," he was not sure if he should be the one to give her a closer look on what they did, so he kept it short. "When I'm not busy with work I enjoy music, good conversation. I even go out, sometime to theatres, sometimes to places where you can find guys who want to make trouble."  
  
He smiled and this seemed to startle her for a moment, but she recovered fast. Pick wondered if she ignored his unpleasant sides or if she accepted it as something she had to live with.  
  
"And I like to spend my time with boxing. Training or fighting I enjoy both."  
  
"That pictures," she said with a soft smile. Although she immediately bite in her lip.  
  
After they had stopped at a gas station and bought a few snacks the next hours where spend with talking about travelling. Since Pick was from Europe and had been around almost everywhere else, he was able to tell Sandrine a great deal about many places she asked him about. By now it was probably the day that went by fastest. 


	10. Dinner and dessert

10.Dinner and dessert  
  
During the early evening Van Cleaf looked out for a proper dining place. Finally he parked in front of a Steak house. The place was large, but it's location a bit offside the road surrounded by open fields was a sign for often changing customers. Before they got out he turned and look into Sandrine's eyes: "I guess I don't have to remind you that you get other and certainly yourself in a lot of trouble, if you try anything in there."  
  
"Certainly not," she said, then he broke eye contact and left the car. She did the same and together they walked into the restaurant. They waited for a second and then a waitress showed them to a table. There were no chairs only a bench, but it was much more comfortable as in an ordinary café. The girl sat herself so she could face Pick.   
  
Unfortunately by the time they had ordered their meals Sandrine had gotten the full attention of the five males at the neighbour table. Short after they had sat down, the leader started to make bad jokes. Also Sandrine could not see them, she saw that Pick look over and was not very amused. The guys were either very drunk or very stupid. Then one guy pulled at her hair. She turned to advise him to stop this, but he just made a disgusting gesture with his tongue and mumbled something like: "How about us?"  
  
"That is a rather hopeless dream," Pick had watched this and decided to end this the one way or the other. Even if it would ruin the meal, he hated this behaviour and especially towards his only friend's daughter. Sandrine took the chance and slid towards the window. The sound of Pick's voice was so deadly that anyone who had at least a bit of his mind left would leave immediately. Obviously the guy was stupid, since he had not smelled like someone who had drank a lot.  
  
"And why is that," he demanded. It was clear that he looked for a chance to impress his buddies, who followed the scene with great interest. None of them were older than twenty-two . Their outfit looked like they had seen to many western.   
  
"Maybe because she hangs on real men," he said in the same tone looking towards Sandrine who had meanwhile arrived at his side.  
  
"So and you are?!" The guy tried to mock. Before Pick could think of the best way to show the foul how wrong he was, his hostage suddenly said with a warning hint in her voice: "More than you could stand."  
  
As a result the others started to laugh out loud, which caused that their spokesmen went red and rushed out of the restaurant. Van Cleaf was really impressed. "You hit the right spot."  
  
Sandrine was relieved that after all this had ended without any bloodshed. She doubted not a second that Pick could have send all of them in a few seconds to a hospital or worse to a cemetery. Now that this was over she realised that she sat very close by Van Cleaf. She had been in danger and instinctively she had fled to the safest place. She suddenly had to smile, strange or not, besides Pick she felt safe. Furthermore it was definitely the safest place she could think of.   
  
Since he did not seem to be disturbed by her presence she decided to remain at his side. They did not spoke a word until the waitress brought their order. They both had ordered steak and also both agreed that they had eaten better, it was quite good and much better than anything they had eaten in the past days.  
  
Pick enjoyed the evening. It was not mainly because of the food, but because of Sandrine. For the first time she was the one coming closer, also it was due to the pack of scum bags he interpreted it as a sign of her awareness. She knew how dangerous he was and turned to him for protection. Had not he want this from the beginning with? The only thing that disturbed him was how comfortable he felt in this role, but as long as he felt like this only for her he considered it to be alright.  
  
For Sandrine was this dinner much more. After the other guys had left and business turned to normal activities, she began to realise that for the first time she really felt free. This was all she had missed. Going out to a nice restaurant, dressed in something that turned heads and all this with a really handsome guy. Maybe the guy was her kidnapper, but he acted more like a bodyguard.   
  
Today she had talked to him already more than to her father. He never had listened to her, he never had given her a straight answer to a question and most of all he never had taken her seriously in any conversation. That was weird, but she did not cared, because she was to busy enjoying this meal as much as she could. Unfortunately Pick broke off very soon. He paid right after they had finished and walked her to the toilet.  
  
She found it was a bit unnecessary, but on the other side, she did not found the courage to tell him this. Doing this would mean that she had to admit to herself, that she was quite comfortable with this situation. He gave her a warning look before she went inside the ladies room. It was empty, maybe because the waitresses used another room for the personal. It did not matter. She was glad that she had the opportunity since she had no idea how far Van Cleaf wanted to go tonight.  
  
As she walked out she could not see Pick and felt a bit panic rushing over her. She looked around, but he was not anywhere in the restaurant. Then she felt a hand on her shoulder. The girl was relieved to see that it was Pick. He had used the chance and had gone to the men's room. He smiled at her, thinking that she had thought about attempting an escape. He got no idea that Sandrine's pouting expression was about him leaving her alone.  
  
They left the restaurant. It was dark and only two single streetlights enlightened the middle of the parking lot. Still Pick recognised the dark figures which were hiding behind the vehicles. He informed Sandrine that they got company and walked down the stairs towards the enlightened space. The girl noticed the amused tone and frowned, but still she followed him close by.  
  
It were the guys from before. The left the shadows of the cars and blocked their way. The leader know wearing a silly cowboy-hat was obviously chosen because he was the tallest and the one with the largest mouth. His eyes were wandering from Sandrine to Pick as he said: "No let's see who can stand more."  
  
Van Cleaf gave her a sign to stay behind. Not to late the spokes man rushed towards him. Even though Pick was smaller he easily blocked the attack and broke the attacker's arm. He showed the guy next to him a triumphing smile and instantly the guy felt the need to perform his own attack. Two of the fellows joined him and the last one decided to take care of Sandrine.  
  
For a moment Pick considered to pull his gun, but this was like calling the police right away. So he kicked the first one down. As the next one came he was ready to face him. He was much stronger than the thin guy before him and grabbed his arm as he tried to throw a punch on him. Before he knew what the stranger was doing, he felt the fists of his friend penetrating his rips.  
  
While grabbed by the remaining guy, Sandrine instantly rose her hands scratching through his face. "My eyes," he yelled pressing his hands on the wound unable to stop the bleeding. He yelled and pressed his hands before his eyes. Even then he could not stop the bleeding. Momentarily blinded he could not stop the girl who hurried without thinking out of sight. Behind a car she stopped. Nobody has seen or followed her. Sandrine looked over to her kidnapper who was doing pretty well for someone attacked by a larger group.  
  
All of his opponents were bleeding and dirt marked the spots on their clothing where they had hit the ground. The guys were too inexperienced, too slow and had no co-ordination in their attack. It was not like Van Cleaf got not hit at all, only that it was not effective. Pick otherwise knew exactly where he had to place his fists to cause great damage.  
  
Soon all four guys lay either knocked out or moaning on the ground. Then Pick saw the last guy still holding his eye and cursing. He did not saw Sandrine, he thought that now she might have taken the change to went inside and call the police. Annoyed he walked over to the poor guy, who joined his friends with tree broken rips and a smashed ankle.   
  
Kindly surprise he saw Sandrine rising behind a car and walking towards him. Not even for a second she had thought about escaping. Pick figured out that she had time to think and knew therefore that she would only have endangered everyone in the restaurant. Still that did not explain why she had not even felt the slightest impulse to do so.  
  
"Are you alright?"  
  
"I'm fine, thanks," she answered looking around.   
  
"Then let's go," he said and went to the car. Quick they left the scene behind. Pick was deep in thoughts. He knew that it was quite unusual that she had not used this opportunity to evade him. He had to find out more about this.  
  
"No time to call for help?" he asked.  
  
"It didn't occur to me, that you might need it," she replied and sounded almost a bit sarcastic.  
  
That was not what he had expected to hear. For her it was really an odd thing to say. Or was she upset about his performance. It had amused him a bit, also he missed a more challenging target.  
  
"Do you think I overestimated?"  
  
"No, they begged for it," Sandrine shrugged her shoulders. Those guys had needed a lesson and now they would not bother anyone else for a long time. She looked on her hands; under her nails where still shreds of flesh and blood. The girl cleaned it. Violence was not her thing and she could not understand why Van Cleaf enjoyed it so much. Since she did not want to ask him, she would have to continue wondering.  
  
Again an uneasy silence was about them. After some time Sandrine decided to end this.  
  
"I don't want that anyone, who does not deserve it, gets hurt or killed because of me, that's why I didn't try anything."  
  
"I thought so," he said. So he believed her, she looked surprised to him. This was an unimportant reason, but telling him one of the other reasons was out of question. She did not know them by words, she only was aware that something else very strong was there.   
  
"And now you expect me to trust you and continue without the handcuffs." He said and turned with a teasing smile on his face. Sandrine felt a certain heat in her chest. She was angry, for once because she had hoped that he would consider forgetting about the handcuffs and second because she ever mentioned it.   
  
"Certainly not. Well - forget it," she fired back. If he wanted to tease her again, she would show him, that she was standing against it. Also she wished he had not started this again, she was glad. Glad because, she already started to feel too comfortable with him.   
  
This caused Pick only to smile more. He had actually decided that from now on there was no need to chain her anymore. If it was just about him, he would keep them, but this was about his friend. Considering this almost irresistible need to touch and to play with her, he did very well.  
  
Sandrine was glad that he did not drive on too long that night. She was even more happier as he went to bed without chaining her. If she only knew what plans Fouchon had for her. Everything that had happened pointed to a good ending, also she might see things more positive than she should.  
  
Maybe Fouchon had given her mother a promise to ensure that if something happens to her he would take care of her children or something like that. He probably had not the time to think of a good explanation which Pick could present her. In fact the time might have been that short he could not even inform his right hand properly. The girl decided to hold on to that idea. She knew she could live with that. Whether she liked Pick taking place in this future or not she could not tell. Seeing him as a bodyguard Sandrine felt more than safe. There was without a doubt nothing that could possible harm her - except himself. That was the fact she could not ignore. So maybe she just needed to learn to live with it.  
  
After his hostage had fallen asleep he called Fouchon from his cellular. It was very convenient that he was busy so Pick had a good excuse of not telling him about all the things he had discovered. Fouchon gave him further information about the contacts and the best escape route. 


	11. Sightseeing tour

11.Sightseeing tour  
  
The following day Sandrine almost said 'good morning'. After yesterday she did not want to bring up a chance for him to tease her. Also he obviously trusted her or at least thought that it was worth to see if he could trust her. After all she saw no chance to escape at all. Even if she did, what would she do then?  
  
"Put on something comfortable, we will have a hard march before us," he told her as she went to the bathroom.  
  
"We going to walk?"  
  
"We are going crossing the border and since the travel route is out of question, we will take the scenic route."  
  
This day it was anyway too hot to wear anything long, so she got her shorts and a top. Walking was better than sitting in a car all day. They left and after a short breakfast, they continued their journey. They were close before the Mexican border. After two hours Pick turned into a small sideway which lead into the mountains. The road became worse which each mile. Finally Van Cleaf stopped the car.  
  
"From here we have to walk."  
  
They hid the car and walked on. By noon they reached a tiny passage that lead into a rocky, dusty landscape. Every hour they made a short rest. Also it was hot and the path was uneven Sandrine enjoyed their walk. She often jogged or made long strolls around the lake, which belonged to her old school. After four hours they stopped on a more open space covered with huge stones.  
  
"How far is it?" she asked her kidnapper.  
  
"I think we will have to walk two or three hours, then I get us a car."  
  
Sandrine leaned back to a stone. The positive side effect was that all the fat stuff she had eaten during the past days would be undone. She was drinking from an already warm water flask when Pick suddenly pushed her down. In the same moment she heard several shots which hit the rock where her head had been a second before.  
  
He pushed her behind the rock, while the shooting continued. Suddenly he stood up, fired twice and dodged again beside her. A short loud rattle in one's throat was followed by even wilder shooting at the rock. Van Cleaf seemed to be unimpressed, he removed a second pistol from his jacket. Then he checked both weapons and turned to Sandrine: "You stay here."  
  
'Like I am about to go anywhere else,' she thought. "Very funny," she heard herself replying. Pick smiled at her for a second afterwards he turned his attention back to their current problem. With a sudden movement he left the cover firing both his guns at the others. Sandrine heard that another one was hit. Then everything went silent. Finally she heard footsteps coming closer.  
  
Van Cleaf saw a bunch of Mexican outlaws crossing by, they were well armed, but lacked his experience and talent. The did not even looked out for him. The more they were surprised as he jumped from a rock behind them. Emptying his guns and leaving only three of the seven remaining men alive, he rolled over the ground behind the next cover. Instantly reloading his pistols.   
  
One of the men tried to reach the next rock, as a bullet hit him in the back. The other were to shocked to do anything. As Pick ordered them to put their weapons down they obeyed without muttering.   
  
Sandrine watched Pick emerging behind the rock with a dreadful smile addressing the outlaws. "Get on your knees and put your hands on your head."  
  
Since there was a lack of opportunities both men did as they were told. Van Cleaf was enjoying himself with the situation. The Mexicans were afraid and part of them knew that they were going to die, but of course the other part was hoping for a way out. He walked around them and with cold amusement in his voice he asked: "Any famous last words?"  
  
The left one who felt the cold metal of the gun pressing against his head started begging for his life. Sandrine was deeply shocked as she saw how much Pick enjoyed this. It gave her goose bumps to see the cruel smile as he slowly pulled the trigger. The mans head seemed to explode in a ray of blood and flesh. The other one trembled.  
  
"That was pathetic - now to you!"  
  
"Fuck you," replied the last outlaw and spit out.  
  
"Much better," he said and shot.  
  
Sandrine wished she had looked away, but it seemed impossible. It had shown her the darkest trait of Pick's character. The girl had the feeling that it was important for her to know it, also this left her in a state of terror, confusion and delusion.  
  
"Let's go," he said. Satisfaction was still written in his face, slowly she grabbed her bag and walked beside her kidnapper. She did not even wanted to think about what happened. The last time he had killed somebody she could tell herself that it was the only way to save her, the same pretence worked for the other seven outlaws, but never for those two. Even know she failed to realise that Pick had been hit by a bullet.   
  
Van Cleaf himself did not gave it much notice. Adrenalin was still flowing through his veins and right now he could not do anything about it. It still bled a bit, but the shot had went right through his shoulder without doing serious damage. Of course he realised that Sandrine was bothered about the events, but he left the situation as it was.  
  
Not a further word was spoken until they reached the end of the path. Not far from there was a huge parking lot. Van Cleaf mentioned that all these cars were already stolen as he opened the door of a beige pick-up. Sandrine was still not up to any conversation and remained silent. She wondered how long they would travel this day and for another two hours she had the chance to watch the dusty landscape. 


	12. Close encounter

12.Close encounter  
  
This time they stopped by a hotel in the middle of a larger village. Sandrine was not paying much attention to what was going on. Together they walked into the building. She wondered a bit about the behaviour of the guy handing out the key, but she gave it no further thought. Pick talked a moment with him and then they went up to their room. Sandrine sat down in one of the chairs. The quality of the room was not to good, but at least nothing was crawling over the floor.   
  
Van Cleaf went to the small freezer and took out the small "welcome-bottle". The drink burned in his throat and that was exactly what he needed right now. As far as he noticed he was able to move his shoulder without any restrictions. He thought it was better to be cleaned, before it got infected. The hotelkeeper was nice enough to ask, if he could bring him anything to take care of the matter.  
  
So a few minutes later a girl knocked at the door an gave him a packet including towels, something to disinfect the wound and some special adhesive plasters. The price was also acceptable. He locked the door and went to the bathroom. He removed his shirt and took a closer look on the wound. The bleeding had stopped, but still a lot of the sand from back there was still in the wound.  
  
Sandrine was not sure why she had looked at him, but as she saw that he had been shot, the sinister feeling was gone. The girl felt even a bit odd for not noticing this earlier. Somehow she felt responsible for it. Of course - if they had left her alone all this would not have happened, but her thoughts did not lead in that direction. As she saw that he was trying to reach the wound on his back, she stepped behind him.  
  
He turned his head and looked at her suspiciously.  
  
"It's better I do this, at least I can see what I'm doing."  
  
Pick smiled and handed her the pads over. Sandrine was not sure weather this had been a good idea, nonetheless she began to clean the wound on his back carefully. Although the pad was between her and his skin an undeniable tension ran through her fingertips.  
  
The antiseptic fluid burned in the open wound thus sending small but sharp waves of pain through his shoulder. It was quite enjoyable. Not because Van Cleaf liked to feel pain - he could tolerate it. It was about the adrenalin flowing through his veins combined with the pleasant touch of the girl's hands. After all not many girls used to stay that close to him. Those few behaved slightly different - screaming, scratching and all that useless stuff.  
  
Being finished with the wound on his back she stepped in front of him. For a moment she looked in his eyes and hesitated. The she concentrated on his other wounds. Van Cleaf was even more surprised and enthralled. The girl was attractive. Standing in front of him this was impossible to ignore. He just had to look down to see deep into her décolleté. He bet that her skin was as soft as her touch.   
  
Pick wondered what would happen if he touched her right now - besides Fouchon killing him. Pick knew to well what would happen if he got a hold on her in this situation. While pressing his hands against his hips, his mind considered the possibilities. Whether it was to find an argument for leaving her or not, he was not so sure. His longing for the girl had become even stronger than he had imagined. Was that about her or about the long time he had spend with her.  
  
"That should do it", she told him after pressing the plaster on his wound.   
  
Pick watched her throwing the pads into the trash-bin behind her and then walking past him. Without really intending to, he grabbed her wrist. This was what he wanted - no matter the consequences. He pulled her closer and searched her face for the answer he had wanted from the beginning. Like he had expected she looked scared, but nonetheless stayed calm. She glanced back and said with a firm voice: "Let go off me."  
  
It was the first time it happened to him that a woman in her situation issued such a clear demand. In a few minutes he would see if Sandrine continued her steady behaviour. He wrapped his free arm around her and grabbed her neck. There was no way for her to escape his kiss. She struggled a bit, but soon realised that it was useless.  
  
Van Cleaf barely recognised Sandrine's motions. He felt like burning his lips upon kissing her. He liked that and hungry his lips went down her neck. Pick moved her arm to his back and lowered his arm to press her waist against his body. He wanted to have her as close by his side as possible.  
  
Sandrine had feared this moment and she was even more scared than she had imagined. As she felt his mouth moving over her body she had only one thought in her mind.  
  
"Stop it - please," her voice almost faltered.  
  
Suddenly Van Cleaf looked deep into her eyes. She closed hers, but what she had seen in those three seconds was enough. Cold and cruel like always and yet she noticed the burning hunger behind this.  
  
"Nothing you say or do will stop me", he said slowly observing her reaction. She breathed heavily in and out, but besides that she stood still. He felt her breasts pressing against his chest. Then with a quick movement he took her and carried her into the living room. After placing her on the bed, Pick crawled on top of her.  
  
Sandrine found herself lying under him - trapped, also there was no actual contact between them. Until his hands grabbed the waistband of her jeans. Still his eyes were fixed on her face. He felt that Sandrine was not going to take it well. As he saw that she was going to say something with her eyes shimmering, Pick knew that he did not want her to break.  
  
"Don't beg", the words came out fast and his voice was hard and cold. Almost instantly he realised that he only made it worse. Van Cleaf saw the horrified look in her face and prepared himself to stop any silly counter strike she might try. However nothing happened. Then with weak anger hidden behind the helpless tone of her voice, the girl asked him: "Isn't that want you want?"  
  
Sandrine felt like going mad. Whenever he touched her skin a strange sensation run through her body. She wanted it to stop. Her mind knew what was taking place, but she could not understand it. Most of all she wondered why it happened now.  
  
First Sandrine thought it was because she had been to careful while cleaning his wounds. In the end her stepfather might have been right about men taking kind gestures for an invitation. Then she had the impression it was simply his nature showing her that after all she was just something to play with. Until his next answer proved her wrong again.  
  
"Not from you", his voice sounded bitter. He was not good in human relationships, whatever he told her would not change anything. Whatever relationship had developed during their voyage, he already had destroyed it. This vexed him, but he told himself that now he could as well go on and enjoy raping her. After all he had always enjoyed any act of violence and especially the fear and agony of his victims. Also he felt less enthusiastic - if he tried hard he would enjoy this, too.  
  
Most of all because this time his head would roll for sure and maybe he deserved it. If he killed her, Fouchon would finish him anyway and even if he escaped before Sandrine trusted her father enough to tell - his friend would find him. So he removed her shorts. Sandrine pressed her legs together and put her hands protecting before her breasts. A clear sign that she was about to collapse.  
  
Undressing himself he thought about how he could fasten it up. He believed that the sooner she behaved like the others, the easier he could go on and treat her properly. A swift attack of his tore her blouse apart and the girl found her hands draped behind her head. Sandrine knew that her nerves could not stand anymore. There had to be something that could stop him. "Didn't you say he wanted me unharmed?"  
  
His laughter sounded cruel and mocking. Then he bend down. While he ripped her slip away he was whispering into her ear. "In case it makes you feel better, he for sure will kill me, if you tell him." Then he leaned back and chuckled as he saw her unbelieving expression.   
  
Did she really hear right or was this part of his mocking? His hands started wandering over her body. Thus she found it difficult to think straight ahead. It seemed like his hands were all over her. All kind of thoughts flashed through her mind.  
  
'At least fight - even if it is no good - Why I am so scared - I should have left him alone - Would he risk his own death ... - Tell him if he stops now you won't tell anything - He must know that I won't lie - Why should he - 'cause I don't want him dead.'  
  
She looked at him and gained a triumphing and cruel smile. "You are sure you want me to stop?"  
  
Van Cleaf expected that this mocking would break through her shell and his words obviously had struck the right point. Tears were running form her closed lids and the girl's face was a mask of her inner despair.  
  
'I should want him dead - He deserves it - Asking this -of course I want him to stop', Sandrine thought. She should tell him this again and again, but she could not. It was not that she thought it was useless or that she lacked the strength. She knew it was a lie. If she was underneath afraid of him, it did not matter. Most of all she was afraid of herself and also a bit ashamed. Upon realizing this she could not stop her tears.  
  
Pick was just about to pay closer attention to the lower part of her body as he saw in the blink of an eye that she was looking at him. "No," an almost silent whisper came from her. He thought he had got it wrong, but then he felt her body relaxing. She wrapped her arms around him. Suspicious as he was, he thought she intended to scratch, but he only felt her soft fingertips wandering gently over his back.  
  
Van Cleaf had no idea what was going on, but he felt his blood moving. The desire for her became even painful. This was what he had wanted and for some strange reason she seemed to want it, too. Yet he could see that she was scared and her body trembled a bit. He took her face in his hands, but there were no answers to his questions. His hands moved down her neck over her breasts until they reached her legs. He spread them which caused Sandrine to turn her head and close her eyes. Still her hands were pressed against his back. He moved inside her.  
  
The sudden pain - also expected - caused Sandrine to announce a short gasp. She pressed her fingers into Pick's back - carefully avoiding to hurt him by touching the wound. This was no time to think about right or wrong. Only once she had felt all her senses - only then she had been too afraid to enjoy it. Now as he embraced her and pulled her closer to him, there was nothing she feared anymore.  
  
Van Cleaf could not believe that it felt that good to have her. It was not that he never had a virgin before, but it was the first time one gave herself completely up to him. She was holding onto him and he began to feel more than delighted in his role as her protector.   
  
Sleeping with Sandrine was different from any sexual encounter he had before. He had never cared about any woman he had slept with. Maybe it was the way she was responding to him. Even the women who had been willing to sleep with him had always fought against him in some sort - trying to get their own fun out of it.  
  
The girl was inexperienced and thus very attending to his movements. However, he realised that he was trying to make this pleasant for her. Not really something he had much experience with, but he was sure that Sandrine's moaning - both silent and loud - was a good sign.  
  
Sandrine was kind of overwhelmed. It felt good and odd, but she was sure she liked it. At least as long as it lasted. After Pick rolled from her and slowly her breath and heart beat returned to a normal rate, she felt awful. Sandrine did not want to look at or talk to Pick. After he left for the bathroom, she looked down at the bed. She had felt that the linen was wet, but how much of it was red disturbed her.  
  
Pick felt her withdrawing after the act. He wondered whether this was a normal behaviour. He decided it was better to leave her alone. Anyway he was neither in the mood nor had the intention to talk. Thus he left for the bathroom.  
  
Also feeling uncomfortable it took her some time to get up. Before she could think about covering her nakedness, Pick came back into their room. She hushed into the bath and locked herself in. After some time she had a long shower.  
  
As she came back into the room the light was out. She did not believe that he was asleep, but it would have made no difference - she had not the feeling that there was any place to go for her. Then she realised that he was lying in the other bed. She stood on the threshold and considered the possibilities. Finally she switched the light in the bathroom off and walked over to him. A few seconds she stood there, but it did not mattered anyway.  
  
Pick was surprised as she crawled beside him, but he took it as a good omen for the length of his life time. 


	13. Family matters

13.Family matters  
  
The next morning Pick woke up as he felt Sandrine leaving their bed.  
  
"Where are you going?" he asked her as she was silently slipping away.  
  
"To the bathroom!"  
  
Van Cleaf got the feeling she was somehow upset. He could only think of one reason.   
  
"You are glad I did not stop, aren't you?"  
  
Sandrine stopped and turned slowly, then she met his gaze. He saw that she was not happy.  
  
"Actually - I wished you had."  
  
While she went out and locked herself in the bathroom. Pick did not move an inch. It had been a while ago since he got the feeling of the claws of death tightening around him. What should he tell his friend? 'I was forcing her down, also she asked me to stop, but in the end I'm sure she enjoyed it - or better secretly she wanted it.'  
  
Fouchon would shoot him the same instant. Maybe he was too worried, but he was too proud to ask her. If she was not aware of holding his life in her hands yet, Van Cleaf would not make her. Pretending he was not concerned at all he dressed himself and packed their stuff together. He had not to wait long for Sandrine.  
  
With an observing eye on every motion of hers they walked outside. Van Cleaf was so concentrated on the girl he did not realise the two man waiting for them until they stood right in their way. One of them was Boudreaux, he did not recognise the other one. Both raised their weapons and so did he. Pick herd Sandrine deeply inhaling. The he realised that the one he did not knew was aiming at her. It must be Sandrine's stepfather - Agent Mosley.  
  
He pushed the girl behind the next parking car while he started shooting with his left hand and moving behind cover on his side.  
  
"Sandrine - Stay down."  
  
Boudreaux was obviously surprised by the action of his partner. By the time he started to shoot, Van Clef had already taken cover.  
  
"I didn't recognised her - oh my god - what happened to her?"  
  
"I get him and you get you daughter out of here," Boudreaux was annoyed and angry. He did not like his partner, but it had been the last chance for him to get those guys. He thrived Pick away with another salve.  
  
Hoping that her father would not harm her with Boudreaux around, Van Cleaf turned his attention to his current adversary. Both caused severe damage to most cars parking on the left side of the hotel's front door. Finally reaching the corner of the street both were running low on ammunition. It was time to change strategy.  
  
"Boudreaux - how nice of you to come by and pay a visit."  
  
"I couldn't just leave you two alone," Chance replied counting his bullets.  
  
"That's right - I know you wouldn't want to hurt my feelings."  
  
Boudreaux answer was firing another clip empty.  
  
"This is rather pointless, why don't you come out and we deal this like grown men should do."  
  
"You first!" yelled Chance.  
  
Van Cleaf threw his weapon on the street and carefully watching Boudreaux he arose behind his car. Chance lowered his weapon. He wanted to kick Van Cleaf's ass down the street since their first meeting. Now he had the chance. They stepped right on the side street. Just as Boudreaux was pulling his gun into his waistband Pick grabbed his second gun from his back and shot him right between the eyes.  
  
Van Cleaf picked up his other gun from the street and stepped over to Boudreaux. "I said like grown men and grown men use their brains and not their fists."  
  
Then he hurried to their car which parked at the other side of the street. It was time to get Sandrine and met their contacts.  
  
In the meantime the girl had fled to the other corner. She did not want to join her father before, but as he shot at her the last link between them broke. There was a yard full of large white bed sheets and covers. The wind blew through them making it hard to see. Without hesitation she ran into the labyrinth-like-place driving some white doves off.  
  
"Sandy - Darling please," Agent Mosley tried to argue. "Everything will be alright, just come to daddy."  
  
"Yeah sure," Sandrine thought, "I will be alright as soon as I get rid of you."  
  
This was the moment when she really wished that Pick would show up. She had heard the shoots in distance on her way, then the awful silence and a single shot. No time to worry about Pick - he could for sure take care of himself. Sandrine tried to reach the other side of the maze - hoping to find an open door. Her father was close behind her and she was not covered by the wailing sheets.  
  
Then she found the side entrance of the hotel, but it was locked. Without thinking any further she fled on the street, maybe to find another place to hide. She reached the little side street.  
  
"Sandy."  
  
Mosley's stepdaughter turned around. Her father was the corner of the street. He shook a little bit straightening his hands. In one of them he hold his weapon. Like frozen she stood there and watched him slowly raising his gun. He was aiming at her, it seemed to Sandrine that he was moving in slow motion.  
  
Both were so focused that none realised the car moving with increasing speed towards the agent until it hit him. Like a puppet, Sandrine's stepfather flew over the street crashing into a parking Volvo. She saw that Pick was behind the wheel turning the car. So she walked over to her stepfather. He was still conscious. She kicked his weapon away from him and crouched beside him.  
  
"You must not believe what he told you - I raised you - I'm your father," he babbled out both in physical and emotional distress.  
  
That was the final piece of the puzzle Sandrine tried to solve during the past days. Suddenly she saw it all clear.  
  
"Thank you - stepfather. Until now I was not sure what he had in mind." She smiled. "Actually I always hoped that one day my real father would show up."  
  
"No, no", he uttered.  
  
Sandrine's voice became colder, now she could make him pay and if not for all those days she had spend with crying, then for taking Tessa away from her.  
  
"I had so much fun during the past days and even more last night. You know - I'm really looking forward to spend more nights with my father's right hand."  
  
Then she got up and left him behind. She did not even felt satisfaction about his pathetic whimpering. In fact she felt nothing at all. While she went towards the car she passed Pick who was approaching her father. He looked wondering what Sandrine might have told him. Van Cleaf almost felt a little disgust looking at this feeble object at the edge of sanity.  
  
"According to Sandrine you could have made it easily to 'the worst father ever', but I guess without you - we would never have get this close. Even better is I will have the opportunity to fuck your stepdaughter." Pick's smile went really nasty. I was like pulling a trigger when he added. "Just like last night."  
  
Then he turned away, surprised that destroying Mosley instead of killing him felt equally good. In the distance he heard the mad, helpless howling. As he started the car, Sandrine was deep in thoughts on the co-driver-seat. After some time Van Cleaf's good mood vanished regarding to the tense silence. It was still his neck under the guillotine.  
  
"He is my father, isn't he?" Sandrine suddenly asked.  
  
"Yes, he is," Pick answered. He had no idea how she figured this out. At least for Fouchon this episode turned out to be good.   
  
Suspecting something and knowing something where two different things. To her it was more than good news. Suddenly she had to think about her mother's last words. She must have meant Fouchon, she had not been fully conscious, but now this would made sense after all. Especially because Sandrine always had the feeling that her mother wanted to tell her something important.   
  
Fouchon could not be worse than her stepfather, also he might be a criminal, he obviously wanted to protect her from harm.  
  
"He wouldn't be happy about last night, would he?"  
  
Van Cleaf had seen this coming, but he would be damned if he give it away. With a neutral tone he replied. "As I told you - he most likely will kill me."  
  
"I don't intend to let him know."  
  
"You don't?"  
  
Sandrine sighted. This was hard, but if she did not tell him, he could get the wrong idea about her.   
  
"You know what was the last thing I told my father? I told him about last night - and that I was looking forward to do it again. Then I realised that I really meant it."  
  
"What a mean perception," he said with a truly satisfied smile. Pick felt Sandrine's disappointment. "You know what's funny? - I told him the same." A few seconds later he added: "And I meant it, too."  
  
They looked at each other for a short moment. Sandrine showed a reserved smile, still feeling uncomfortable about her own feelings. Van Cleaf on the other hand had no problem showing that the stars were shining very bright on him.  
  
Than they reached the harbour, where a smaller boat waited to take them to the yacht, which was already on high sea. The guy who drove the boat did not understand English, which gave them the last opportunity for a little chat.  
  
"You seem nervous," Pick said.  
  
"I am nervous! You do not meet your real father every day and especially not after he kidnapped you twice and almost killed you."  
  
"He was also very concerned about this - he had not any idea that you hated your stepfather that much or that you already knew he was not your real father."  
  
"You should better tell him that I know," Sandrine suggested.  
  
"Why don't you tell him?"  
  
"Yeah good idea! I start right with - Hi daddy nice to meet you!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"I don't know - I just ... Maybe because father was always something negative for me and I spend a lot of time imagine how wonderful it must be without one."  
  
"I see your problem," he replied.  
  
Sandrine desperately wished that he would put his arms around her making all her thoughts go away for a while. She wondered if he would do this, in case there was no danger of being seen together. The girl had no illusions about their affair being romantic or anything like it. At least she hoped it would be a little more than just occasional sexual encounters.  
  
"How is your shoulder?" She asked remembering his injury.  
  
"A bit stressed, but nothing to be concerned about, "he smiled at her. "You know - I was just thinking how much you have changed since Fouchon saw you."  
  
"Yeah you're right - What do you think he's going to say?"  
  
"I think he will be delighted to see that your ideas about dressing are far away from what he saw."  
  
Sandrine leaned back. She decided not to worry too much. On a sunny day like this there where much better things to do. The wind was cool, not chilling but refreshing. This was almost like a twisted fairytale - with the dark lord keeping her save from the white knight and taking her to his realm.   
  
An hour passed before the yacht came into sight - and what a sight she was. Sandrine could not believe what she saw: "It's larger than I expected."  
  
"She suits our client," Pick replied.  
  
"One of those hobby hunters?" she was surprised.  
  
"Yes - one of those!" He smiled "What did you think? That every little broker could afford our service?"  
  
"Actually, I did not think about it at all. So - tell me. How much for one of your hunting trips?"  
  
"500,000 Dollar!" Van Cleaf replied.  
  
She gasped: "Half a million? - Just for chasing an old man around and shooting him when he is too exhausted to run any further? Either your clients are bored beyond imagination or they have too much money!"  
  
Pick chuckled. He did not mind that she could not understand the delicate aspects of their business ventures. The fact, that she seemed to have accepted the nature of their business so fast, made him smile.  
  
"Well - those wealthy and bored clients made your father also very rich."  
  
"I guess I have to live with it," Sandrine turned her gaze from the yacht to Pick and smiled back. Their boat docked on. Three man with the identical white trousers and shirts were busy on the deck. One of them helped Sandrine on board, while Van Cleaf was looking at her.  
  
"She is sarcastic - very good," he thought handing their bags over. The small boat left as soon as he had climbed at deck. The crewman introduced himself as Marek. He told Van Cleaf that Fouchon wanted to see him right away and that he was supposed to show Sandrine her room. So they followed him under deck. The crewman led them into a huge living room.  
  
The mahogany decor was no doubt very expensive. With a bar in one corner, a sofa with a large wooden table against the other wall, a flat television screen and most likely much more behind the many doors Sandrine had no doubt it offered anything you could ask for.  
  
"Mr. Van Cleaf - through this door. The next door to your right is the office," Marek explained pointing towards an amber glass door. He turned and gave Sandrine a sign to step through the opposite door. A short corridor was behind. Passing two other doors Marek opened the one at the end. The girl stepped into the most luxurious bedroom she ever laid eyes on.  
  
"If you need anything call me, drinks and some snacks are in the living room," Marek told her. "By the way the other door leads to your bathroom. Have a nice time, Miss."  
  
The crewman left and also she knew it was childish, she had to try the bed, which was for two persons and looked really invitingly. On her knees she jumped on it, before she turned and lay flat on her back. This was her idea of comfort, even for two the bed was huge. Thinking about Pick she wondered whether he felt comfortable right now. 


	14. Reunion

14.Reunion  
  
Van Cleaf knocked at the office door and his friend bid him inside. Fouchon was anxious to confront Sandrine, but he wanted to avoid any mistakes. So he wanted to talk to Pick alone. He poured two glass of whisky and handed his associate one, while he started  
  
"Good to have you back - I can imagine that you want to rest a bit, but before you have to tell me what exactly happened."  
  
"No problem, there weren't that many remarkable things, even considering her point of view," he started. "I was on my way to the hotel, when I saw her on the street. Those stupid stinking dogs - forgot their names, you know the ones with the cheap looking leather outfits."  
  
"You mean Flick and Flack?" Fouchon helped him out.  
  
"Yes - anyway they were just about to kill her and so I shot them," He said. As a result Pick had to stop himself from chuckling, when his boss looked for a second in terror at him before he started to cough. He had gotten a bit whiskey in the wrong throat. Fouchon recovered fast, he put the whisky glass aside. He had the feeling that Pick got a few more surprises.  
  
Pick continued: "Since they tried to kill her, she was not to upset about it. Same counts for those lowlifes who messed with her at a gas station. I did not kill them, but I guess it looked a bit brutal."  
  
Van Cleaf almost felt bad about not presenting the good news right away, but the intonation lay on almost and therefore he went on. Fouchon watched him carefully and locked still concerned.  
  
"The gang that stopped us, after dining in a small restaurant, was also quite messy, but on the other hand I did not start any of those confrontations."  
  
Fouchon sighed. He had hoped to hold those thing away from his daughter until they were a bit closer, but sending her on a ride with Pick - he could be happy that nothing worse happened. In case nothing worse did happened.  
  
"Anything else," He asked.  
  
"Sort of a Mexican stand-off while crossing the border. I didn't bother to look what they were smuggling - got a run through the shoulder."  
  
Fouchon did not even want to think what a sight this must have been. Especially after wounding his friend.   
  
"Was that all?" Fouchon forced himself to ask, although he knew that he would not like the outcome.  
  
"Only one incident left. We met her stepfather - accompanied by Boudreaux," Fouchon put his hands over his eyes while Pick continued. "Boudreaux is dead and she did not saw me doing it."  
  
"But she saw you finishing the man she regards as her father?" The newly father was already resigning. He could not imagine how any of his ideas to builds a relationship with his daughter should work under these circumstances.  
  
"Yes and no," was Pick's answer.   
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"She saw me running him over with a car, but we were kind of finishing him off by telling him that Sandrine knew already that he was not her father and that he had accidentally convinced her that you are her real father."  
  
Now Pick smiled as the face of his boss lightened up, while he was realizing what he just had heard.  
  
"You ...!" Fouchon started with an angry tone, but he was not able to finish because he was far to happy and in fact he could not hold it against his friend. He knew him to well and liked him for his mocking nature. Of course only because Pick knew how far he could go with Fouchon.  
  
Van Cleaf began to explain the nature of the first outfit of Sandrine', which accordingly led to her problems with Agent Mosley and that she had far less problems with what they were doing than Fouchon had expected.  
  
Fouchon was becoming better and better. After Pick has finished the story, he asked him to send Sandrine to him.  
  
He told Pick that he should chose one of the rooms next to Sandrine and that he was occupying the other larger bedroom at starboard. Van Cleaf informed the girl both about her father wanting to see her and that he was staying next door. While Sandrine went to Fouchon's office, Pick decided to take a rest and went upstairs to enjoy the last rays of the autumn sun.  
  
Sandrine was quite nervous when she knocked at the office door. She stepped in and for a few moments they just looked at each other. When Pick had told him she had changed Fouchon had no idea how much. It was like a different person was standing before him. Van Cleaf had been right she looked fantastic.  
  
"According to Pick's tale you already knew who I am," Fouchon broke the ice.  
  
"Yes - I do know," Sandrine said and took a seat in front of the desk.  
  
"How comes you knew?"  
  
"I've got Type 0 negative and since his blood type is AB ...,"she left the rest unfinished.  
  
"I see and how did Agent Mosley convinced you that I am your father?"  
  
"Oh - he said something about me shouldn't believing you - that he raised me and was therefore my father. That was the missing clue."  
  
Fouchon leaned back in his chair, now the tension was gone. His daughter was obviously bright and not easy to scare, what more could he ask for? It seemed to him that she even had made an impression on Pick. Which brought him to an other question.  
  
"How did you get along with Pick?"  
  
"I would dare to say travelling with him is far more interesting than with my stepfather," she said.  
  
"I'm glad you took it so well - most guys that used to work for us, did not like having him around," Fouchon replied. "I was hoping you liked to stay a while. If you do not - I could understand."  
  
"Actually I got one way or the other no idea what to do - so that's fine with me."  
  
A moment Sandrine thought her attempt not to sound too much overexcited had made her sound a bit to cool, but then Fouchon nodded. "I guess after the experience with you last father, that's a start. But let me assure you that I do not intend to tell you how to dress or what to do. If there is anything you want or like to do - I do my best to support you."  
  
Sandrine was sure that he meant what he said, but she had the feeling that asking him about her mother could wait until they know each other better. Fouchon suggested to leave the topic where it was and that she should feel free to do anything she want.  
  
Sandrine did not see much of Fouchon or Pick that evening. She made herself a meal, cleared the dishes and went to bed early. The girl had the impression that she had never rested so well before.  
  
The next day Sandrine showed up during lunch, but only Fouchon was still sitting with a newspaper at the table. Pick's plate was already finished - at least she assumed it was his. Also she wanted to know where he was, she did not dare to ask.  
  
"You slept well?" Her father asked her.  
  
"Yes, I did - and a bit too long," she replied with a cheerful voice.  
  
"You deserved it - after that exhausting trip," he said kindly. "There is still some food left in the oven - in case you like  
  
"That's one of my favourites," Sandrine went to the kitchen compartment that was next door. After she had finished she started to clean the table.  
  
"You don't need to do it - Marek can take care of it later," insisted Fouchon.  
  
"I can take care of it right now," was Sandrine's answer. The girl took it for a good sign that Fouchon turned his attention back to his newspaper and let her proceed.   
  
It seemed to Sandrine that Fouchon was always busy with something in his office and Pick stayed out of sight. Sandrine felt that Van Cleaf was avoiding her and also she saw the necessity to do so, it annoyed her a bit. She spend the rest of the day reading until Marek showed up again to prepare supper. Sandrine gave him a hand and they had a little chat. I did not surprised her that Pick skipped this meal.  
  
"Pick was never fond of travelling over water," Fouchon commented the empty place.  
  
"Too bad for him, by the way - how is his shoulder?" Asked Sandrine trying to sound nothing but politely.  
  
"I think it's better, but he wouldn't say anything even if it is otherwise," Fouchon answered.  
  
During supper Sandrine made Fouchon aware of the fact that she could do only little on board except sunbathing, watching TV and other things like that. He promised her to take care of it.  
  
Later that evening while she was watching TV. Fouchon accompanied her in the living room and they talked a bit over her interest and hobbies. Sandrine realised that she liked someone paying attention to her. It was late when she went into her bedroom and she fell asleep the same instant her head touched the pillow.  
  
Sandrine had no idea how much time had passed when she was waken by the firm grasp of two hands over her body. Pick moved closer to Sandrine pressing her body against his. She uttered a soft growl and snuggled up to him. He kissed her neck.  
  
"Missed me?" He wanted to know.  
  
"Terribly," she replied ",but don't you think it is a bit too dangerous? They could hear us!"  
  
"Trust me - they won't hear anything," he said drawing back. The sound of Pick's voice almost scared her. Before she managed to ask him what he was up to his hands went up to the collar of her night-gown. For him it was no effort to tear it apart. She laid motionless as he removed the tissue waiting for his next move.  
  
Pick ripped along shred from Sandrine's gown, before he pressed her backwards down. He gagged her with her own night-gown. From her expression he could tell that she was not feeling too comfortable about it. A nasty smile appeared on his face and Pick was fetching some handcuffs.  
  
Sandrine had not thought he could shock her anymore, but she had been wrong. If she had been able to, she would have protested loudly. She tried to remove it, but Pick grabbed her hands and she was trapped once more. The girl struggled, but she was not able to move an inch. Sandrine could not understand why he acted like this - she had told him clear enough that she wanted him. If he had asked her to, she might even have agreed to everything he had suggested.  
  
Pick closed the cuffs on her wrists chaining them behind her head. He enjoyed the angry look on Sandrine's face. Van Cleaf had thought for hours about her and how he should act towards her. As a result he came to the conclusion that the best thing to do was acting naturally. Thus he decided to pay her a visit and do whatever crossed his mind - whether she was going to like it or not.  
  
He bend down and let his lips wander over her neck down to her breast. He was not to surprised as Sandrine started to groan softly. Her body was relaxing and Pick instantly realized that he could do probably everything to her, as long as it wouldn't leave any visible tracks, her father would notice. He was quite sure that she was so into him, that she would never reveal it to Fouchon. Since Pick had no intention to harm Sandrine seriously, he was more than just delighted with the situation.  
  
The girl was at first a bit angry as she realized, that she was still enjoying his attention. Anyhow it did not really mattered, the only import thing was that Pick was with her. Sandrine decided that she simply had to learn to deal with Pick the way he was.   
  
As Sandrine woke up the next morning she was alone. That her wrists complained badly about last night events did not bother her as much as Pick's absence. She got up and thought about the best way to cover the traces on her wrists while she attending the bathroom. At first she thought about faking a inflammation of her tendon's sheath, but that would have been far to suspicious.  
  
Luckily she took along one of her favourite party cloth: A shoulder free white top and along with two gloves. She combined it with a long, white skirt and a colourful scarf. Now Sandrine looked a bit overdressed, but on the other hand - she had not to many other clothes left. What was she thinking when she had packed her stuff? The answer was obvious - she had not thought at all. Otherwise she would had brought more comfortable and practical clothing.  
  
In the living room she met with Fouchon, who's face was lightning up as he saw her. "You look terrific!" He called out looking up and down at her. "And as if you had read my mind," he continued after a moment. "I we are going to dine in a very exclusive restaurant and you couldn't have made a better choice."  
  
Sandrine went almost red. So many compliments she had never gotten in a month not to say in a few minutes. "I do not have that many ordinary clothes with me - I was so angry, I just took all the clothes with me, HE probably would have hated most at me."  
  
"Yes, I guess we should stay over night and take you shopping the next morning. I mean, I don't want to look over your shoulder, but I would feel safer if you take at least Pick with you."  
  
"He'd be delighted to carry my bags," Sandrine smiled at the picture. Her father chuckled: "Well, better you take one of the other guys, too."  
  
Sandrine looked - still smiling out of then next bull eye and saw that it was already brought daylight. "How late is it?"  
  
"Must be after 3 p.m.!" Fouchon answered.   
  
"That's late, I overslept almost the whole day!"  
  
Sandrine wondered when her little meeting with Pick had took place. It must have been in the early morning or it had simply lasted very long - maybe both, she concluded. That brought her to the next question - Pick.  
  
"Are we dining alone?" She asked trying to sound hopefully.  
  
"No," Fouchon replied with a stressed tone. "I invited Pick - I know he is difficult to get along with, but since he is a close friend and associate ..."  
  
"Guess it would be fine and thinking how hard he tried to be kind to me ...." replied said.  
  
Fouchon smiled again at her: "You realized that."  
  
"Sure, so when do we go out? I'm terribly hungry right now!" The girl answered directing the conversation to less dangerous topics.  
  
"I recommend a little snack - our table is reserved for 5 p.m. - actually the whole restaurant!" he added.  
  
"Do you think that anyone might recognize me there?"  
  
"No - they are not looking anymore for you - I'm not sure if I should tell you." Fouchon hesitated, but as he looked at Sandrine he knew his daughter would be more upset by not telling, then by the revelation. "Your stepfather went totally crazy. When they found him he repeated over and over - She is gone, she is lost to me - you are unofficially considered dead."  
  
"That's good news, isn't it?" Sandrine said cheerfully.  
  
"Yes," he replied, "Yes it is!" Feeling proud beyond reason he went to his office in order to finish some work.  
  
Later Fouchon, Pick and Sandrine sat in an exclusive restaurant. It was beautifully designed with a nice outlook at the sea. Three waiters and the cook in person were attending them. The girl was a bit embarrassed about that much luxury, but she soon got used to it. Nobody seemed to be annoyed that she ordered a grape juice instead of wine. She thought it was better to get drunk first time in a private place.  
  
Fouchon had placed Pick at his right side and his daughter to his left, thus the lovers were forced to face each other and especially Sandrine had her problems looking unsuspicious. Fouchon was too deep entangled in his own thoughts to notice anything. He was thinking about the necessity that Pick and Sandrine got along fine. He would not like to miss any of them at his side.  
  
He was convinced that Sandrine still must hold a certain anger against his right hand regarding to her reaction as he told her that he had invited his friend. Nonetheless - she was extremely thoughtful and he had high hopes that she would come to accept Van Cleaf. The conversation between him and Pick or Sandrine went on fine, but they rarely said anything to each other, at least no more than one or two words.  
  
Finally - during the last course - Fouchon caught both their attention: "I have to ask you for something, I know that it might seem a bit daring - but I was hoping you might find a way to learn to accept even like each other.  
  
Sandrine and Pick looked up and stared unbelieving at each other. "What is it?" 


	15. Epilogue

Epilog  
  
It was short before noon and Sandrine was lying next to Pick in her magnificent, large bed. There residence was now an old castle in the countryside of eastern Europe. A great part was still under re-construction, but each of them had their own room with an extra bathroom and besides the great there was a gigantic living room, a library, a huge room re-designed as a gym, a dining room and not to forget the tremendous kitchen.  
  
They got a butler and a cook, who - of course - had dirty backgrounds as well.  
  
Sandrine was happy, three month had passed since she had lost her status as a virgin and still her father had no idea what was going on between her and his right hand. During the diner in Mexico it seemed he got them, but luckily the idea was to absurd. At first she had wanted him to know and asked Pick various times to find a way of breaking the news.  
  
Later when she had learned that no matter how mean Van Cleaf seemed to be Fouchon could be way more dangerous. Like Sandrine, her father was moody and hence she agreed with Pick that it was far too risky.   
  
It troubled her a bit. One reason was that she really liked her real father, in her opinion he proved to be what a good father should be like. The second more severe reason was the fear that Fouchon might accidentally stumbled over them. She would not be surprised if he would shoot Van Cleaf right away.   
  
Considering what her lover did sometimes to her, it would be pretty understandable. Pick was sometimes kind of vile to her, but her anger never lasted for long. Even the first time he forced her to please him with her mouth - and Sandrine had felt really humiliated then - it was only moments later her fury had been forgotten. There was no way to explain to her father, that it was alright with her. All things considered she was more than happy.  
  
Her eighteens birthday had taken place and it has by far been the greatest party of all - although Tessa had not been there and she spend the entire day only with her father. She had been taught to drive and a car of her own had been her birthday present. The same night - who she spend entirely with Pick - he gave her the most beautiful necklace she had ever seen.  
  
Sandrine's thoughts were interrupted when Pick suddenly started to nibble on her ear. Fouchon was gone on a business trip and they did not expected him to return before tomorrow night. Of course Van Cleaf had some things to settle as well, but he had returned in the early morning. After a short liaison he had decided to sleep in her room.  
  
Both were really into each other, when Sandrine suddenly startled. Pick also started listening. Then they looked at each other. Fouchon was for some reason on the stairs and on his way to their floor.  
  
"Sandrine?"  
  
"Shit!" they screamed and went into action. Pick grabbed his clothes and head for the bathroom, where Sandrine jumped quickly under the shower until her hair was entirely wet. Then she grabbed her dressing gown and a towel.   
  
Short afterwards Fouchon knocked at her door. While Pick remained in the bathroom, she went to open the door.  
  
"What a surprise!" Sandrine greeted her father.  
  
"Everything settled down smoothly - you are getting up very late," he said, knowing, that his daughter usually did not sleep that long.  
  
"I was already up, I was just exercising a bit," she said smiling broadly. "Therefore I needed a quick shower."  
  
"I stumbled in Paris over this, " he said pulling a small jewellery box out of his pocket. "And thought you might like it."  
  
Sandrine carefully took the velvet covered box from her father and opened it slowly.  
  
"That's so beautiful!" she replied seeing the elegant platinum ring within. "Thank you, dad," she said smiling.  
  
The girl did not hug him, for she was not used to hug. She simply felt not like doing it, but luckily it was the same with Fouchon.  
  
Nonetheless it was clear that he adored her about anything else. His primary interest giving her presents was not to gain favours, but to make her happy. And for this Sandrine loved him. If only there was a way to make Fouchon understand how badly she needed Pick, too.  
  
"So, have you any plans for today?" He asked her suddenly.  
  
"Oh yes - I'm meeting with my future French class in the city library."  
  
"Will you be back for supper?"  
  
"Sure, this won't take long!"  
  
"Good," Fouchon said " I'm going to reserve a table for us at Domian's. Is it ok, if I take Pick along?"  
  
"Why not - if he wants to!" Sandrine shrugged her shoulders.  
  
"That reminds me - have you seen him?"  
  
Sandrine's face turned dark: "I haven't left my room yet", she answered avoiding to lie again.  
  
Fouchon nodded and bid her goodbye. Then he left to look out for his right hand. Sandrine shut the door and sighed. She put the ring on her desk. "The air is clear!"  
  
Van Cleaf left the bathroom. He was already dressed. All he had to do was slipping out of her room without being seen. This time Fouchon had been close to discovering their secret, too close. Both of them realized that.  
  
"We have to find a way to tell him - before he finds out for himself and gets really mad!" She said.  
  
Van Cleaf nodded. "I guess you're right, but let me do it."  
  
Sandrine agreed. Pick knew her father better than anyone else. His chances were higher than hers.  
  
Three hours later Sandrine was in a much better mood as she jumped down the stairs. The girl shouted a happy goodbye to her father, who was just walking with Pick across the entrance hall. Both stopped surprised. Before he could say anything she was already outside. Hearing her car starting Fouchon said to Pick: "You know I have a bad feeling about this?"  
  
"Her improving her French?" Pick asked surprised.  
  
"No, of course not that. It's good she likes to learn, but .... " Fouchon paused a moment. "I observed this for some time now and my guess she has a boyfriend. Probably some weenie from one of her classes." He sighed.   
  
Pick did not know what to say. He liked to bite his tongue for acting as if his friend was to ignorant to notice. "I mean, I can't hope that she has meet someone like you - who is already involved with certain business and who leads a live half in the shadows. I think, if she had met someone like it, she probably had told me. At least I hope she knows she could."  
  
"And what would you do if you can't stand her boyfriend?" Pick wanted to know.  
  
"Probably nothing - until he stumbles over something he shouldn't know," Fouchon explained.  
  
"So any guy she chooses would be fine as long as he does not interfere with our business?"  
  
"Why should I?" Fouchon walked on. "Anyway I want you to find out who it is - in case I need a long preparation time."  
  
Pick watched his boss walking into the living room. He thought a moment about what he had just been told. Theoretically he was the ideal choice, but his friend knew him to well. With someone like him he had for sure not his unpleasant character traits in mind. All his good intentions might be forgotten, when he started imagining what he might do to his daughter.  
  
Now there was not much room left for Pick to dance on. He had to tell him sooner or later something. Lying was out of the question. He was given a specific order. Since the whole game was anyway like betting on black or red Pick decided to gamble. Looking at the matter his chances were not that bad.  
  
Van Cleaf followed Fouchon into the living room.  
  
"Have you already made up your mind how you going to find out?" Fouchon asked him.  
  
"I don't think that will be necessary", he said stepping closer.  
  
"You already knew about this and did not told me anything", Fouchon was angry and Pick could not blame him.   
  
"Well I was a bit concerned how you take it!"  
  
"Is it that bad?" Fouchon looked still upset and prepared for the worst news.  
  
"That depends on how you look at it - because I'm Sandrine's ... boyfriend", Pick said thinking it was best not to say lover.  
  
"You! - It is you!?"  
  
Before Pick realised his friends intention, he felt a breathtaking impact to his rips and then how is nose cracked on the living room table. Streams of blood came running from his nose. Pick realised that Fouchon had turned away from him. Van Cleaf's first thought was that he probably was looking for a gun to settle the matter, but instead he heard Fouchon opening the bar. Getting up he saw that his friend was pouring two drinks of the best Irish whiskey they had.  
  
"I guess I deserved that", Pick admitted.  
  
"Yeah - for NOT telling me! All this time I was thinking, considering all kinds of dreadful possibilities."  
  
"Well we thought you might not approve of it."  
  
"I promised her, I won't tell her what she can do and what not. I really don't want to know how you two ended up together. I really do not," he handed Pick a glass. "I hoped you would get along - so will not complain."  
  
They drank to it.  
  
Sandrine returned an hour later and found Pick in the entrance hall.  
  
"What happened to you?" She wanted to know seeing the bruise on his nose.  
  
"I told him."  
  
Instantly her face lightened up. There was no need to ask for her fathers answer. He was alive, so he must have accepted it. She ran towards Pick and kissed him.  
  
"I never thought you would do it today", she said regaining her breath. "He is not too happy about this, is he?"  
  
"Well, he nearly broke my nose and cracked two of my rips, but besides that, I think he is glad that you chose me?"  
  
"Oww", Sandrine uttered. The girl touched his breast, she carefully touched the bandaged rips. Of course Pick had not taken any pain relievers and even this light touch was painful. Van Cleaf removed her hand.  
  
"I thought I was supposed to be the sadistic one in our relationship."  
  
"Oh, of course I forgot for a second", she answered with a teasing smile on her face.  
  
Pick grabbed her hair and pulled her head roughly back. A moment he thought about a verbal reply, but then he went directly on to kissing her.  
  
THE END 


End file.
